


A Changeling in Erebor

by RiverEagle



Series: Donnabelle [6]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Post-Battle of Five Armies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bilbo Has Issues, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Healing, Miscarriage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Quest of Erebor, Rule 63, Thorin Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6830797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverEagle/pseuds/RiverEagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Five Armies, the company of Thorin Oakenshield believe their brave hobbit, Donnabelle ‘Bilbo’ Baggins, perished in the fight to reclaim their home, taking with her the future of the line of Thorin, son of Thráin.  They did not realise a changeling such as Donnabelle had a natural defence that protects her from further harm and helps her to recover when she is emotionally compromised and physically traumatised as she was after the battle… this is her journey to recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the readers that stuck with me through the journey of writing ‘Donnabelle’, and especially to Calenthion and Nikolai who helped me so much with Khuzdul.
> 
> "Westron" (common tounge)  
>  _[Hobbitish spoken language]_  
>  _~Iglishmek~_ (Dwarrow sign language)  
>  **~Khuzdul~** (Dwarrow spoken language)  
>  _/Elvish spoken language/_

_Battle of the Five Armies_

_Ravenhill_

Donnabelle ‘Bilbo’ Baggins was in so much pain.  It radiated out from many different places yet the worst of it came from her lower back and abdomen.  It hurt to breath.  She took in a shallow breath and knew she needed to find help.  But first, she had to make sure that Azog was really dead.  Dragging herself to where the Pale Orc lay prone on the cold stone, Donnabelle felt along his arm to his throat.  The body was cooling off quickly.  There was no pulse.

She breathed a sigh of relief.  Her terror that he would somehow come back and haunt her was unfounded.  Looking down at her hands, they shook.  Why were they shaking?  She balled her hands into fists and used the orc’s corpse to push herself up onto shaky feet.  Pain exploded outward from her lower back.  Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she very nearly collapsed again beside Azog’s body.  She arched her back and reached out for the wall to steady herself.  Blood was seeping down her legs and she felt a clump of something slide from her.  What was wrong with her?  Opening her mouth, she thought about calling for help.  It snapped closed as she remembered she was in the middle of a battle.  If she wanted help, she would need to go find it.

Another cramp hit her.  Tears slipped from her eyes as she placed a hand over her womb.  What did all the pain and sticky fluid mean for her and her baby?  Donnabelle pushed herself away from the wall and on shaky legs, made her way from Azog’s cold dead body.  She really needed to find help and fast.

The hobbit did not know how she managed to get herself down from Ravenhill with the amount of blood she had lost.  Every step she took was like walking on razor blades.  She did not know how she managed to find herself moving toward the men and elven survivors, either, once she got to the valley floor.  But someone spotted her making her way toward them when she abruptly collapsed into unconsciousness.

When Donnabelle woke, she had been moved into a tent of healing.  There was a strange human hovering over her.  The hobbit shifted backward when the woman realised that she was awake.

“It’s okay, dear.  I won’t hurt you.  Could you tell me your name?”  Donnabelle frowned and shifted further away from the woman until she hit the edge of the bed.  “My name is Eira.  I’ve been worried about you.  You’re very lucky to have survived.”  The woman, Eira, was an older, plump looking woman.  She placed her needle and thread down.  “Are you hungry?”

Donnabelle nodded.  The hobbit gingerly moved closer as Eira asked someone at the entrance to the tent to bring the patient some soup and a bun.  It wasn’t long before some was brought and offered to the hungry hobbit.

Eira watched as Donnabelle took the food and began to eat.  When it looked like the diminutive woman was calm enough, Eira asked again, “What’s your name?”

Donnabelle chewed slowly and then swallowed.  _[Donnabelle,]_ she responded.

“I’m sorry.  What was that?”

 _[Donnabelle,]_ the hobbit repeated.

Eira frowned and sighed.  “I’m afraid I cannot understand you.”  At the child’s confused look, the woman explained, “You’re speaking a different language, sweetheart.  Would you mind terribly if I called you Signý?  It means ‘new victory’.”

Donnabelle shrugged and turned back to her food.

“Or I could call you ‘Bella’, which is what you sound like when you speak.  But I guess the dwarves wouldn’t appreciate that after they lost their friend.”

The hobbit stopped eating again and frowned.  What did the woman mean; the dwarrow had lost her?  _[I’m right here, though.]_

Eira looked over at the small hobbit and gave her a tired smile.  “It has been nearly two weeks since the battle.  And everyone has heard about the burglar King Thorin brought with his company from the Shire.”

_[You’ve heard of me?]_

The woman looked over her patient and wondered exactly what the smaller person had asked.  So Eira guessed at the question and answered, “We’ve all heard of Donnabelle and what she did for us.  The story goes she fought and killed the Pale Orc up on Ravenhill with nothing but a small blade.  She was killed herself.  King Thorin and his company have been trying to find her body ever since.”

 _[But…]_ Donnabelle began and then stopped.  If Eira couldn’t understand her and it sounded like bells, then she was speaking Hobbitish.  Swallowing hard, the hobbit looked down at her food.  She took another bite of her bun and finished draining the soup.  After she finished her bun, Donnabelle frowned and reached for her braids… that weren’t there.  When she began tugging on her hair, trying to ask where her beads were, Eira frowned.

“What are you looking for?”

Donnabelle frantically began braiding her hair and pulled on the small beginnings of a braid.  Eira realised that the hobbit was asking for her beads and reached for the small pouch they had stored the various baubles in.  The small lass reached for the pouch and brought it to her chest.  She frowned again.  How was she to ask after the mithril shirt Thorin had given her?

“The chain shirt you were wearing is folded up and with your other clothes under your bed.”

A small, grateful smile flashed across Donnabelle’s face and she nodded her thanks.  Eira returned the smile.  “Whoever gave you those must care for you very much.”

Donnabelle smiled again, yet it did not reach her eyes like before.  Did Thorin actually care for her?  Was he actually going to search for her?

The last week with him just before the battle had reminded her of the time before they’d reached Lake-town.  When she felt cherished by the Mountain King.  But then, there were other times she remembered: the times she’d spent alone after Lake-town.  After the dragon.  When Thorin had treasured his reclaimed gold more than he’d treasured her.  What if he went back to that gold lust after he found out…?

No.  She couldn’t think on that.  Not yet.  But…  Her hand went to cover her womb.  There was no pain there.  Just the pain from her cracked ribs when she breathed.

Donnabelle felt Eira’s gaze on her and the hobbit turned on the older woman.  Yet there was no point in asking any of the questions that were running through her head.  No one within 100 leagues of Erebor would be able to understand her language.

Not even Gandalf.

It was only after Bofur came through her tent two days after Donnabelle woke that the hobbit knew she was in for a long recovery.  The hatted dwarf had not recognised her and neither had Bifur when he’d stuck his head in as well.  Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes when Bofur murmured, “That’s not her.”  The dwarrow she had grown to know and love were the only ones to help her recover and yet, they did not recognise her while she was stuck as a small, injured human child.

She sniffed and refused to look at Eira after the dwarrow had left.  There was no way the hobbit could explain that _she_ was the one the dwarrow had been looking for, nor the fact that she’d suffered so much emotionally and physically that she had triggered her natural defences.

The natural defences of her changeling nature had her speaking Hobbitish and looking like a small human teen.

She was _not_ looking forward to her recovery.


	2. Chapter 1

Donnabelle snuck out of the tent of healing one week after she woke up, nearly three weeks after the Battle’s end.  From what she had gathered from Eira, she looked like a (very small, malnourished) teenaged girl.  No one from Lake-town recognised her and those that did visit or interact with the hobbit assumed that she’d been a prisoner of the Orc Armies.  They shrugged her presence off as if she’d been a prisoner of war and had been brought along for the sport of it.

The woman charged with her care had asked for her name a few more times since Donnabelle had woken.  Donnabelle had given up responding as each time she spoke, she could only speak in Hobbitish.

And what did it matter to the human survivors if one, strange girl with no family ‘disappeared’?  Or to anyone really?  It wasn’t as if anyone actually knew who she was.  For Donnabelle, she knew that she needed help and that wouldn’t come from the human healers.  Oh, they could help heal her _physical_ injuries, but Donnabelle needed more than that to heal her _emotional_ injuries as well.

So when Eira left to find her evening meal, Donnabelle gathered up her mithril coat and her beads and left the tent.  Not without leaving a note behind, though: she did not want to worry the kindly woman that had nursed her for the three weeks she’d been there.

With her meagre belongings, Donnabelle headed to the only place she knew she would be able to find help for her healing.  Erebor.  She was heading to her dwarrow.  Only they could help her heal and for her to ‘be’ herself again.  Sometimes, she really hated her biology.  For how many other changelings suffered from being emotionally compromised and physically traumatised not once in their lifetimes, but twice?

The first time her natural defences had kicked in, back when she was a tween, she hadn’t known it was happening, or what it was.  Of course, having grown up a slave away from other hobbits and changelings, it was no surprise that she _hadn’t_ known about her defence mechanism.  Anyone she met for the first two months after Frérin died assumed she was Beorn’s daughter while Beorn saw her as a child he needed to protect.  It took her most of those first two months to speak Westron again.  And once Beorn saw her to Hobbiton, it had taken her another six months to return to her natural form instead of looking like a human child.

Donnabelle shuddered.  Last time, her recovery time had _not_ been pleasant.  No one in the Shire had really wanted to speak to her, except her dying mother.  And there had been no one to explain to her what exactly a changeling was until her Took cousins found out  she had been enslaved and almost raped because of her ‘gifting’.

Her dull grey eyes looked around the valley and the giant gateway that led into Erebor.  It would be nice to be within the walls of Erebor again and close to her ‘boys’.  And yet… she was worried she would not find a safe place within the mountain to recover.

After all, it hadn’t been that long since Thorin had succumbed to dragon sickness.  Nor that long since she’d drawn him out of it with promises of a future that was not to be.

She looked up at the main gate as she passed through.  She remembered Thorin’s livid face and could still hear his harsh denial ringing in her ears.  _“I have not given you a single gem!”_   She winced slightly as a dwarf brushed by her and she clutched her borrowed knapsack closer.

“Watch it,” the dwarf growled at her.  He didn’t notice her cower away from him and closer still to the broken wall.

Donnabelle lowered her eyes and waited for the crowd to disperse.  Now that she was in the mountain (or at the main gate anyway), where was she to go next?  Her eyes drifted across the entrance hall and to the doorway through to the armoury.  For some reason, her left hand travelled up to cover her right bicep, the same bicep that Thorin had gripped so roughly the day he accepted their child was real.  At the time, she’d forgiven him because she was so happy he had broken free from the sickness that had taken hold of him.

But… had she been right to grant him her forgiveness?  Had she truly forgiven him for ignoring and hurting her so much?

She knew he had changed because of the gold and had returned to his senses when he’d accepted his impending fatherhood.  She’d seen him leap to her defence when Dáin had arrived and insulted her.

Still, it would take her time to process what had happened over the last eight months.  After she’d left the Shire in the first place to chase after thirteen rowdy dwarrow.  She needed to confront Thorin about her concerns, her _fears_ , that things may not ever be the same for her.  Or for them.  Because she did not know if she could trust any of her ‘boys’ right then.

Her eyes drifted up from where her feet had taken her.  She hadn’t even realised she’d been moving further within the mountain until she stopped outside the chamber she’d slept in while it was just her and her dwarrow within the mountain.  Her lips twitched slightly.  The small storage closet she’d made her bed chamber was hidden and out of the way.  It reminded her of simpler days of when it was just her and Frérin against the world.  And it was perfect for her to spend her recovery time in until she learnt to trust others again.

  **ACIEACIE**

One of the first places Donnabelle discovered after her return to the mountain was the library.  She entered through one of the lesser known entrances and couldn’t stop a small gasp of awe from escaping her lips.  The place was immense.  But she supposed that was only right when she thought about the rest of the mountain.  There were rows upon rows of shelving and stacks upon stacks books within the room.

A voice pulled her from her thoughts.  “Library is closed to the public.”

Donnabelle scanned the room and saw Ori coming toward her with a book in his hand.  She blinked in surprise at the hard set of his jaw.  What had happened to the sweet, shy dwarf she’d met so long ago in her smial?  _[Oh, Ori.]_

The blond dwarf frowned and looked the newcomer over.  She was shorter than most dwarrow he knew.  Her ginger-blond hair fell in natural ringlets and landed just below her collar bone.  Other than the two braids on either side of her head, the dam wore no other ornate braids as most dams did.  The two beads she wore were familiar to the scholar and yet he did not recognise them besides the fact they declared her married and a friend of the house of Durin.  Her Durin-blue eyes were laced with pain.  Pain Ori himself understood all too well from the last three and a half weeks.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

 _[My name is…]_ Donnabelle began in Hobbitish and then stopped as the dwarf’s frown deepened.  She bit her lower lip and then her eyes widened.  Her hands became a flurry of signs as she began conversing with the dwarf in Iglishmek.  _~I’m sorry.  I got injured during the battle and I can only speak one language.  I can still understand you though.  I was exploring.~_

The dwarf nodded and curiously asked, “What language were you speaking and could you teach me?”

Donnabelle gave the scholar a sheepish smile and shook her head.  There wasn’t a way for her to teach anyone Hobbitish, unless he or she was directly related to her.  _~Sorry, it’s even more secret than Khuzdul or Iglishmek.~_   She looked around the giant library once more.  There wasn’t anyone in the room except for her and Ori.  _~But if you’d like, I could help you with Sindarin and give you a hand organising this place.~_

Ori looked over the other dwarf.  It was rare for a dwarf to admit they knew one of the languages of the elves, and yet the dwarf in front of him _had_.  “You know Sindarin?”

The hobbit turned her attention back to Ori and nodded.  The scholar smiled.  And if Donnabelle hadn’t known the young dwarf so well, she would have missed that it was one of the smiles Ori gave that meant little.  “That would be very helpful.  As long as you follow my instructions.”

Donnabelle nodded again.  She would accept any job Ori gave her if it meant she spent time around one of the dwarves she loved.  It gave her a sense of purpose, if nothing else.  And it would help her journey to recovery that much quicker.  She didn’t need to be coddled, or pampered, or left out.  All she really needed was to be treated like any other dwarf within Erebor.  Working with Ori helped her more than words could say.  And slowly, she began her long journey to recovery working alongside a dwarf she saw as family.

**ACIEACIE**

Donnabelle woke from a nightmare for the fourth time in as many nights.  She had been back in Erebor for three weeks and was able to converse simply in Westron again.  Ori had been a great blessing for her in that regard.  He had not cut her any slack for being unable to converse in Westron or Khuzdul, and yet demanded her to perform the tasks he’d asked her to.  And it was that normalcy that helped give her the confidence to speak in the common tongue yet again.  He hadn’t asked her name since their first meeting in the library and the only name she’d offered was ‘Dina’.

During those three weeks, Donnabelle grew a little more confident making her way around the more common areas of Erebor during her breaks, especially the areas her dwarrow frequented.  Other than Ori, though, none of them paid her any attention.  She was fine with that.  It actually gave her a chance of observing each of them and working out ways of being useful within the mountain.

Many times, she had heard them whisper about the brave little hobbit they missed and of Óin.  It was only then that she worked out that the company had not only ‘lost’ her, they had also lost their healer and kinsman.

And it was from learning of Óin’s death that had Donnabelle thinking of losing each of her new family to death.  Which lead to her having nightmares each night.

Each night, it was something different: her kidnapping, Frérin’s death, Óin’s last stand in the Battle with Glóin at his side, and then that night’s nightmare of Thorin’s death on Ravenhill.  Oh, it did not matter that she _knew_ fundamentally that Thorin survived and was now ruling Erebor.  It did not stop her nightmares including his death at the hands of Azog, though.  And she wasn’t quite sure of the location: it could have been Thorin taking her place on Ravenhill, or he could have lost his life when he’d decided to confront the Pale Orc outside the Goblin Town.

No matter the location, it was _her_ dwarf’s death that troubled the hobbit and had her panting for breath.  She closed her eyes and Thorin’s cold, vacant eyes swam into view.  Her eyes flew open.  She could barely see three feet in front of her, but she preferred the murky blackness of her small cupboard to her imagination of Thorin’s death.  She tried taking in a deep breath and holding it.

Somehow, she couldn’t get her lungs to function properly.  Her eyes fluttered closed again as she curled back in her ‘borrowed’ furs.  She saw Thorin fighting Azog alone.  Again.  And the Pale Orc towering over him.  When the orc brought down his sword to pierce her dwarf’s heart, she felt the pain of Azog’s blade pressing into her own chest.  Pulling one of the pillows on her makeshift bed close to her, Donnabelle sniffed.  She did not even notice when the pillow began soaking up her tears.  Her breath came in shallow gasps.

And there was only one thing that was going through her mind: she needed reassurance that night that Thorin was alive and well.

Releasing the pillow, Donnabelle stood and crept quietly from her small quarters.  She had not explored Erebor yet, and still her feet could trace the pathway to the royal chambers that Thorin shared with Fíli and Kíli.  It took her a very short amount of time for her to reach the door that led to her husband’s sleeping quarters.  She bit her lower lip as she heard something flop within the chamber and raised her small hand to knock on the door

As she knocked, she called out quietly, “Thorin?”

A growl came from within the chamber.  Some rustling as sheets were moved.  Then the padding of someone – Thorin, her mind supplied – coming to the door.  It opened to her and she was faced with her first (if brief) look on the Mountain King in six weeks.  “What?” he growled.

She lowered her gaze, unable to look up at the man who had caused her so much heartache in the weeks leading up to the Battle.  But she also knew him to be the only one to comfort her nightmares that night.  “May I sleep with you tonight?”

“You usually go to Fíli,” came Thorin’s curt reply.  Donnabelle frowned.  No she didn’t.  If she’d had a nightmare, it was _Frérin_ she had gone to.  But it had been years since she was able to do that.  And after his death, there had been _no_ one for her to turn to after her mother had died.  But something at the back of her mind reminded her that she was currently caught up in her ‘natural defence’ and she hadn’t had the chance of catching her reflection on the way to the royal quarters.  She didn’t see the confusion written across Thorin’s face, or him running his gaze over her shifting figure.  “Always,” she heard him rumble.  With that one word, Donnabelle felt herself breathe a sigh of relief.  He was allowing her to stay!  She kept her gaze downward as she entered his bedchamber.

Now that she was there, did she actually _want_ to be alone with Thorin?  But it was too late to go back on her choice.  Thorin closed the door behind her and made his way back to his (huge) bed.  He lifted the covers up as he slid in and beckoned Donnabelle to join him.

One night of comfort wouldn’t hurt, would it?  She _had_ trusted him once not to harm her and he hadn’t really.  _He forgot about you,_ her mind whispered.  _He chose his gold over you and the child you carried._   She blinked and found her feet taking her closer to his bed.  He gave her an encouraging smile as she slid beneath the blankets he’d held up for her.  Gently, he lay on his side and offered his bicep as a pillow.  Snaking his arm around her waist, he drew her closer to him so he was spooning behind her.

She shifted closer to him, allowed her head to rest on his arm, and pulled the arm around her waist nearer.  Just as she was getting lost in her thoughts of her nightmares and enjoying the comforting circle of his arms, she heard him whisper, “Get some sleep, Kíli.  We’ll talk in the morning.”

Thorin thought that she was Kíli?  She sniffed and buried herself further into his embrace.  No wonder he’d mentioned Fíli when she’d first arrived at his door.

She felt him draw her closer and bury his face into her neck.  He was trembling.  Maybe he, too, had woken from a nightmare and needed the closeness that they had once shared.  She pulled his arm closer to her and felt him begin to stroke her forehead with the hand connected to her ‘pillow’.  Neither of them spoke.  Yet she found it was a comfort just being curled up in his arms, knowing that he was safe and alive.

Donnabelle was the first to waking the next morning, nestled in Thorin’s slumbering arms.  For the first time since Lake-town, she actually felt safe in his arms.  She rolled over so she could take in his sleeping face.  Reaching out, she traced her fingers over his forehead, his nose and his parted lips before she traced along his jawline.  Her fingers ran up the side of his face to eventually curl around the marriage braid he wore.  Her sleepy eyes took in the two beads she’d given him on the road from Mirkwood, and her heart felt lighter at seeing them displayed so proudly in his hair.  She wished that she were able to re-braid them that morning, but she felt that it would be tempting fate if she tried.

After all, she had already stayed far past the time she meant to stay.

“I love you, ukhbab mudtuê,” she whispered.  And truly, he was.  He was the one that held the pieces of her battered, bruised heart within his hands.  The one that would help her heal or the dwarf who would completely destroy her.  Her eyes traced over his sleeping features in the pre-dawn light.  And then, as quietly as any hobbit could, she slipped from his embrace and left the room.

**ACIEACIE**

Thorin woke more refreshed that morning than he had since before the Battle.  He reached out to pull his bed partner to him and opened his eyes when he hit empty air where he’d been sure Donnabelle had been.  A pang of disappointment ran through him when he realised she’d slipped out without his knowing.

He would have passed it all off as a dream if it had not been for the barely warm, rumpled sheets of where Donnabelle had slept by his side.  So it hadn’t been a dream.  A small smile graced his features as he allowed it to sink in.  Donnabelle was still alive.  But then the smile faded as he wondered why _she_ was in hiding.  And he realised he hardly knew the hobbit he’d bound himself to.  Nor did he know much of her Changeling abilities.

When she had first told the company of her abilities on the Carrock, he’d been overwhelmed with the knowledge that she was _female_ and had known his brother.  On top of that, he remembered she’d bravely stood between him and his oldest foe.  He had tried denying his growing feelings for her, and yet couldn’t stop himself from comforting her in Beorn’s house after Dori had placed his foot in it.  He admired her courage for entering both Mirkwood and Lake-town when she clearly had uncomfortable memories of other times she had dealt with elves and men.  She had shown him her backbone and had been able to put him in his place after the fiasco with his gold lust.

And he knew she had a softness to her; that she admired the simple things of life.  She wasn’t above asking him for help.  He knew that she could well take care of herself (and had done so since both Frérin and her mother had died), but she also had the courage to admit she _wanted_ someone to care for her.

He ran his hands over his eyes and slid out of bed to face the day.  There were so many questions running through his head.  The most important one for him was how was he to get his wife back?

Dressing in his royal robes, he moved through the living area he shared with Fíli and Kíli.  The boys were just coming out of their shared bedchamber.  That meant neither of them had seen Donnabelle leave his bedchamber that morning.  Thorin blinked at the pair of them and gave them each a small, half smile.  After his nightmare last night, he was glad to see that it was only a dream come morning.  He approached his nephews and reached out to cup their necks.  He first leant his forehead against Fíli’s before he turned and did the same with Kíli.

Both princes leant into the show of affection from their uncle without even questioning it.  Thorin pulled back and moved to sit at the dining table where breakfast had been served.  He started eating the breakfast.  Fíli and Kíli looked at each other and then toward their uncle.  They joined him at the table.

“Bad dreams, Idad?”

Thorin paused mid-mouthful and looked at Fíli in question.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Both princes knew better than to push.  So they focused on their own breakfasts, leaving Thorin to his thoughts.  The dark-haired king looked over his nephews and wondered if he should inform them of Donnabelle.  He quickly squashed that idea, thinking there may be a very good reason why she hadn’t come forward yet.  And was he even sure she _wanted_ people to know she was alive?

There must have been a reason she sought his bed last night.  But she hadn’t stuck around that morning for him to ask.  If there were anything that spiked his interest, it would be a mystery for him to solve.  His wife’s avoidance of being seen seeking comfort from him, and from her hidden nature when she’d shown up the night before, were good indications that there _was_ something going on.  Thorin was determined to find out what it was, and if he could, he wanted to be there to help Donnabelle the same way she had helped him and his company throughout their quest.

Which, when he sat down in his private study later that night, was why he began writing a note to his wife.

_‘10 th January._

_‘Amrâlimê,_

_‘It was a surprise when you came and sought comfort from me last night.  It gladdens my heart to know that you survived and are still with us.  We were unsure of your survival after finding your letter opener embedded into the Defiler’s body, along with the Arkenstone and what we guess was your blood beside his body.  The Arkenstone is safely entombed with my ancestors, if you are curious about what happened to it, and that is where it will stay.  It was the only way I could think of honouring your memory._

_‘In so saying that, I would like to know: How did you survive?  More importantly, why have you remained hidden and caused us to grieve for you these last six weeks?  What can I do to help?_

_‘Much love - your kurdul.’_

 

Thorin placed his quill down and looked over the note.  He wondered if he should include more information in it about how the kingdom was running, but found that if he _had_ , it would detract from what he was really wanting to know.  The question was how was he to get the message to Donnabelle?  He was unsure if she would venture into his quarters once more.

He frowned and thought long and hard.  Thorin did not really know a lot about Donnabelle (and he freely admitted that to himself), or of hobbits in general.  Though he knew she’d been raised by Frérin and held more of the dwarrow traditions, there were other things she carried with her that were distinctly Hobbit.  That had made her unusual when it came to other hobbits.  He remembered her telling him that early on.  Maybe before they’d even reached Rivendell.

Oh Mahal.  They hadn’t even managed to inform the Thain of the Shire Donnabelle had perished.  A yawn escaped him, and he realised he would have to deal with _that_ particular correspondence in the morning.

No.  If he didn’t do it tonight, he would forget.

So he pulled a new parchment out and lifted his quill.  How was he to begin?  What did Donnabelle say the Thain’s name was?  Fortinbras.

_‘10 th January, TA 2942,_

_‘Thorin II, son of Thráin, King under the Mountain, to the Honourable Thain Fortinbras Took, greetings._

_‘You may not know me, yet I have heard a great deal of you and your family from a very dear gentle hobbit; one Donnabelle Baggins, daughter of Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins, formally of Bag End._

_‘I employed Mistress Baggins as the fourteenth member of my company at the request of one Gandalf the Grey, once well-known to your grandfather, Gerontius Took.  We were under the impression when she first joined our noble quest to reclaim Erebor – our ancient homeland – she was male.  In the months of our journey, Mistress Baggins has become an invaluable voice of reason for my company and in particular, me.  We learnt on our journey that she was known to one Frérin, son of Thráin._

_‘Mistress Baggins has spoken highly of the Shire, and of her gardener, a young tween by the name of Hamfast Gamgee.  She has spoken of how hobbits are blessed by Yavanna, the wife of Mahal, and are able to grow things even in the harshest of environments.  We, in Erebor, would benefit greatly from any advice you could give us in farming, agriculture and crops.  Donnabelle has said nothing can compare with the Shire farms and their produce._

_‘On a more personal note, we have learnt of Donnabelle’s abilities and how she managed to hide her true gender from us for the first stages of our journey.  In recent weeks, she has become withdrawn from us and has hidden from interacting with others except for a select few.  It would help if I knew more of her heritage so I can help her recover and become herself again._

_‘Regards,_

_‘Thorin II, son of Thráin,_

_‘King under the Mountain.’_

 

Thorin reread both notes, the one to Fortinbras and the one to Donnabelle before he dropped them on his desk.  He would deal with them both in the morning.  Leaning back against his desk chair, he ran his hands over his weary face.  He hoped that he would get some answers about how to help Donnabelle.  Because, though he did not like to show it to the others of his company, he really did miss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul used in this chapter:  
> ukhbab mudtuê = forger of my heart  
> Idad = uncle  
> Amrâlimê = My love of all loves  
> Kurdul = Heart of all hearts


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donnabelle finds Thorin's note to her and writes one back.

“Master Ori,” Donnabelle began as she looked up from her shelving the morning after she’d spent cocooned in her husband’s arms.  The dwarf was busy organizing his own stack of books.

“I told you that it’s just Ori,” the dwarf responded, looking over at his help briefly.  Donnabelle bit her lower lip as she placed the last book in her hand on the correct shelf.  Moving back to where Ori was, she reached for some more books.  When she didn’t say anything, the dwarf looked up from his pile and frowned.  “Was there something you wanted?”

“Would it be possible for me to work only mornings with you?”

Ori lifted his pile of books and his frown deepened.  “You want to stop working with me?”

“It’s not that…  I really enjoy working in the library with you.  It has helped me so much in the last three weeks.”

“If it has helped you, then why are you wanting the afternoons off?” Ori asked.

“Because I also need to find other ways to help me heal.  You saw me when I first came here.”  The dwarf nodded, remembering that the dwarrowdam hadn’t been able to speak Westron or Khuzdul.  He shelved the last of his books and returned his attention to where Donnabelle was scuffing her feet and moving to shelve the books she’d gathered.  She wasn’t looking up at him when she added, “I can’t just spend all my time in the library.”

“But what do you need to heal from?”

She lowered her gaze and started shelving some of the books in her hands.  How was she to explain to her friend that though she may have healed physically, there were many emotional scars that she needed to face before any true healing could happen?  “Mas… Ori, that’s exactly what my family said nineteen years ago.  Emotional scars are far harder to heal from than physical injuries.”

“Oh,” Ori said quietly.  “So you need to find other ways to help you heal from that?  Why can’t I help?”

Donnabelle sighed and reached out to take a hold of his gloved hands.  “You have helped me, more than you know.  But I _need_ to confront this on my own.  I will still come and help in the mornings.”

“Really?”

“I need this, and working with you, as much as I need _other_ …”  She trailed off and couldn’t bring herself to look at him.  He didn’t say anything, but it was clear that his companion was thinking through exactly what she wanted to say.  When she next spoke, Donnabelle was very soft.  “I don’t want to use the library as a hiding place for what I need to confront.  It’s a refuge for me, but if I stay here and help all the time, I’ll never heal properly.”

Ori nodded.  “Okay, Dina.”  Donnabelle looked up at that name.  It was a name that she’d chosen after the first week working with Ori as she knew that she couldn’t really get away forever without a name to go by.  And neither of her hobbit names would do because _those_ names did not fit her current predicament of looking like a dwarf.  She gave the scholar a small, grateful smile.  The dwarf swallowed and nodded.  He moved to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “I know what it’s like to hide from something.  I admire that you want to face that.  I’ll be here if you ever need me.”

“Thank you.”

The pair of them worked in silence the rest of that morning.

That afternoon, Donnabelle found herself drawn to Thorin’s personal study on the off chance he was busy elsewhere in the mountain.  She thought that it would be one of the best ways for her to learn more about the newly crowned dwarven king.

The room itself was sparsely decorated and was smaller than she thought it would be.  There were a few places to sit along the wall closest the doorway, a small conference table where Thorin could gather a few of his closest advisors near the fireplace (that was currently unlit) and his desk near the far wall of the room.  The desk had a few piles of reports Thorin had not yet had a chance to read yet.  She wandered over to the desk to look through the parchment that was on the desk to see what the king was working on.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she found many of the reports done in Balin’s neat handwriting, only needing Thorin’s signature on them.  The only reason she knew Balin had been the one to write the reports was that they were written in the same hand as her own contract as the company’s burglar.  The smile dropped off her face and her eyebrows wrinkled slightly as she spotted a piece of parchment half covered under some of the reports Thorin _may_ have been working on that morning.  She reached out and pulled the letter from under the pile.  It was addressed to her cousin.  Why would Thorin be writing to Fortinbras?  She read over the letter and swallowed hard.

Thorin was asking the Thain for help?  Why would he go to her cousin over asking _her_ for help?  She sank down on his desk chair as she reread the letter.  Part of the letter addressed that very issue: Thorin did _not_ like to admit that he needed help, but he was lost when it came to what he could do for _her_.  Oh, that nungbâha.  Maybe it _wasn’t_ the best way for Thorin to introduce himself to her cousin, or to broach the subject of her Changeling abilities.  But she couldn’t fault him for trying.  She placed the letter back on his desk and caught sight of the second letter Thorin had written.  It was addressed to her.  Her heart felt lighter as she began to read.

Yet, when she got to his questions, she felt heat rise in her cheeks.  Her knuckles were white and her eyes narrowed.  Who did he think he was, demanding answers from her as if it was _her_ choice to him suffer?  Did it not go through his thick skull that maybe she _couldn’t_ reveal herself without compromising her safety?

She pulled out one of his desk drawers.  Hard.  The drawer bounced to a stop.  No parchment in that drawer.  Shoving it back into its place, Donnabelle moved to the next drawer down.  Again, no blank parchment.  But she paused before she moved on.  Her hand shuffled around the papers in the drawer and she pulled out a handful of sketches.  They weren’t just any sketches, either.  Nor were they Ori’s sketches.  She shuffled through each of them and felt her eyebrows furrow.  There were at least half a dozen sketches: all of her, all of her face and upper body.  There was one of her braiding somebody’s hair (it could only have been Thorin’s).  Another was of the day she first showed the company her true appearance.  Of her accepting Thorin’s help down from a pony outside Mirkwood.  Her with her small letter opener protecting Thorin.  Her with her pipe.  The day she told Thorin of their child.

That was the one she stopped to stare at.  She ran her fingers over her drawn face.  Had she really looked that content when Thorin had nuzzled his face into her belly?  It was rather good.  Whoever drew it must have loved her a lot.  Yet, the picture – all of the pictures – held a lot of pain and grief as well.  The only person she could think of that could possibly have drawn the pictures was… Thorin.  She dropped the pictures back into the drawer as if they burned and she quickly closed it.  She did not notice that it remained open, if ever so slightly.  It was only then that she spotted a blank parchment underneath the pile of reports.  Donnabelle eased it out from underneath it all.  She picked up Thorin’s quill and began to write.  Her grip on the writing instrument tightened as she vented some of her resentment and anger out onto the page.

**ACIEACIE**

Thorin frowned as he entered his inner office.  It had been almost two full days since Donnabelle had sought his bed and a day since he had written a note to her.  He had forgotten about it over the course of his day but remembered it with stark clarity as he narrowed his gaze on his desk.

Someone had been in his office.  The papers on his desk were not quite the same as when he left them that morning.  He moved around the office and to his office chair.  The chair had been moved.  There was a new missive on his desk as well.  He was about to pick it up to read when he glanced down at the drawers.  The second drawer was open, the same drawer where he kept his sketches of Donnabelle.  He froze.  Someone had been through his desk.  They had found the pictures he drew of his wife.

He slowly pulled the drawer open.  The top picture was of Donnabelle and of how he remembered her when she told him she was pregnant.  When he’d cradled her womb and had pressed his ear against her stomach.  He recalled her fingers gliding along his jaw as she buried her other hand in his hair.  His fingers curled around the edge of that picture and he drew it out.  He traced her jawline.  That moment was one of the happiest moments of his life.

Thorin never thought he’d ever be a father.  Donnabelle had given him that rare gift when she yelled at him about their gem.  His heart constricted as his thoughts drifted to the battle that had so cruelly taken her from him.  Both her and their child.  His jaw set as he dropped the sketch back into the drawer and shoved it closed.  He felt violated that someone would dare enter his inner sanctum.  He balled his hand into a fist and slammed it down on his desk.  How dare someone go through his things?  His vision blurred.  He needed to know who the culprit was and have them punished.  His mouth opened to call for the guard before it snapped shut.  His gaze was drawn to the parchment under his fist.  He did not recognise the writing.

 

_‘Thorin Oakenshield,_

_‘Do NOT think this is wholly about you and your suffering!  I cannot help my nature and I did not know my natural defences had kicked in until after YOU started morning for me.  And don’t say it’s purely a ‘hobbit’ thing: I know you cannot deny the gold sickness that lies on your bloodline just as I cannot deny my heritage either.  Do you really believe I would have let all of you grieve for me if I had a way to help you?_

_‘Don’t expect many answers from Fortinbras about Changelings.  He is very protective of me, as are all the Tooks after they found out exactly what I went through as a slave and what happened in the months after I returned to the Shire._

_‘As for your questions: you should have guessed by now how I survived.  Or did that little trinket you gifted me with mean nothing?  As to how you can help.  I am very mad at you and I’m very unsure of my future within the Mountain.  I feel I cannot trust anyone at the moment, not with my emotional safety.  And I desperately need to feel safe again before I can truly heal._

_‘You have the ability to recreate my heart after the company broke it when you all threw me aside for the Arkenstone.  Or you could be the one responsible for shattering it completely.  I so dearly wish for the first option: then we can be together.  Forever.  The second option will destroy me.  I don’t think I could recover a second time from my ‘safety net’ if you so choose to cast me aside._

_‘I need to know you have changed: I need to be able to trust you again so I can heal.  Please, ukhbab mudtuê.  Am I able to trust you with all of me?’_

 

There was no signature.  Thorin did not need one, though.  He knew who had penned the note, and could read her anger within the first few paragraphs.  His eyes narrowed and he turned to glance at the chair where Donnabelle’s mithril shirt hung.

If his wife had not been pierced, then how could he explain all the blood?  Where had the blood… His anger simmered down a little.  He returned his attention to the note in his hand.  _Donnabelle_ had been the one to enter his office that afternoon.  _She_ had been curious and had started snooping through his desk.  She had found his note and had probably taken it with her when she left.

He read over her note once more.  How _dare_ she insinuate that he was only thinking of himself?  When he had penned the second question, he was thinking of the entire company.  All of them were grieving for the loss of their burglar.  They _all_ wanted her back.

But… what if they forced her to return and made it that much worse?  Did he truly believe Donnabelle would hide from them deliberately?

He read the letter once more.  There was no mention of the child she carried.  A muscle jumped in his jaw.  She didn’t have the decency to tell him what he most feared: she’d lost their child due to her folly.  She had done what she had warned him not to do.  Donnabelle had been reckless and it had cost him his child and a future with his wife.

A knock came at his office door.  “Uncle?  Are you in there?”  The crown prince opened the door and stuck his head in.  Thorin levelled his gaze at his oldest nephew.

“Get out,” the king barely raised his voice.  “Before I throw you out.”

Fíli frowned.  “Uncle?”  Thorin’s glare was enough to send the blond prince scampering for the door.

**ACIEACIE**

The following afternoon, Thorin was still fuming at the letter Donnabelle had left on his desk.  Not even supervising the clearing and reinforcement of the lesser used (but still needed) chambers had not helped his mood.  So he was drawn to the training grounds where Dwalin was training with the dwarrows from the Iron Hills.  The bald warrior crossed his arms over his chest.

“What brings you to the training grounds today, my King?” Dwalin asked.  When Thorin grunted low in his throat, the corner of the burly warrior’s lips lifted slightly.  “Are you wanting to trounce someone?”

Thorin grunted again.  Dwalin raised an eyebrow at his friend and brother-in-arms before he pointed to an angry dwarf that had just finished a spar with another dwarf.  “Vent your anger on him.”  The Mountain King turned to look at his captain and raised his own eyebrow.  “That dwarf has a lot of anger issues himself.  He’s faced two of my best trainees and trounced them both within ten minutes each.  Good match, I’d say.”

Thorin nodded slightly and moved to where his opponent was cleaning his knife.  The dark-haired king did not recognise the dwarf, but that did not matter as long as he helped vent some of the king’s ire.

“Do you know how to use that?” Thorin asked with a sneer and a quick flick of his chin.  The dwarf looked and narrowed his blue eyes.

“It’s deadly,” the dwarf grunted.

“Your weapon of choice?”

The dwarf stood and twirled the knife around and into the position he normally held it in.   The blade faced outward along his forearm.  With his left hand, he drew out his hand and a half blade.  “I’m going to break that pretty nose of yours.”

Thorin smirked.  “You believe you can get that close?”

“Watch me.”

The pair of them swung into action.  Neither could really get close to the other, yet they both relished the chance to best their opponent.  Dwalin observed the match with interest.  Both Thorin and his opponent were vastly different with how they fought and held their weapons.  The king held his dwarven broadsword in his predominate right hand and had picked up a shield with his left while the smaller dwarf held a knife in his right hand and his short sword with his left.  Thorin would be rooted to the ground with each of his attacks whereas his opponent was light on his feet and never really stayed in one place.  A moving target was much harder to hit, after all.  And it appeared the smaller dwarf had no preference when it came to a predominate hand after Thorin had knocked the short sword out of his opponent’s hand.  The smaller dwarf switched his knife to his left hand, spun around to gather his misplaced sword up again, and struck out with it held securely in his right.

And neither opponent would get close enough to get a kill shot in.  The pair fought for nearly an hour and a half without either one getting the upper hand on the other.  Sometime during the fight, the other trainees paused in their own mock duels to watch their king face of an opposing dwarf no one really knew the name of.  Dwalin soon dismissed them from gawking too long at the spar between the two opponents.

The burly warrior had no doubt that Thorin could win the spar.  Yet with the way the pair of them were going, he had a niggling sense at the back of his mind that perhaps the younger dwarf could surprise him (and Thorin) by winning the match.  And he did not think the king would like that rumour to spread around Erebor about how he had been trounced by a youngling.

A number of the company had made their way to the training halls when they heard that Thorin was training with a guard.  (There was no way that Dwalin could get rid of them.)

“Who’s that he fighting?” Nori asked.

“That… that’s Dina,” Ori responded.

“Who’s Dina?”

“Dina’s the dam that works with me in the library.”

Thorin found himself looking over his opponent carefully.  Did Ori say the dwarf was a dam named _Dinna_?  He caught sight of the two beads his opponent wore – a marriage braid and bead hung from her left temple and a Durin bead adorned a simple braid on the right – and the small tip of a pointed ear sticking out behind her marriage braid.  And suddenly, he was on the defensive.  It did not take much for the dwarrowdam to get the upper hand on the dwarven king.

Dwalin wanted to rush in and defend his king after the man had been off-set and lost his shield by the name Ori had given his opponent.  Thorin backed away quickly from the furious (yet not as powerful) swings of Donnabelle.

“Dwalin, don’t you dare,” both opponents called when they caught sight of the warrior gripping his axes.

“She will not kill me,” Thorin added as he took hold of the dam’s thrusting sword.  He pulled it out of her grasp and sent her sprawling to the floor.

She quickly rolled over and kicked his advancing blade out of his hand.  He gave a slight smirk and went to hit the floor beside her head.  She caught his right hand and swept his feet from out beneath him.  He stumbled and landed on the floor beside her.  Donnabelle was quick to twist the hand (and arm) she held up behind his back and had her knees positioned on the small of his back and left arm.

She placed her free hand on the back of his neck and leaned down.  “Thorin, son of Thráin, I’m still mad at you,” she hissed quietly.

He moved slightly under her grip and her knee slid off his left arm.  She eased the pressure on his back and right arm.  “Yes,” he returned, just as quietly.  “But you still love me.”

“Fool that I am, yes.”

Donnabelle got up off Thorin and gathered her discarded weapons.  Before she left the training hall, she turned on the company and snapped, “Don’t you dare let him follow me.”  Most of the company frowned at that command and Nori made to follow after the petite woman.  Balin held up his hand and placed it on Nori’s chest to stop the spymaster from leaving.

Dwalin moved to Thorin’s side and helped the other dwarf up.  “Was that really Dinna?” the bald dwarf asked.

“No.  That wasn’t Frérin’s Dinna,” Thorin responded quietly before he began to move toward the exit.

“Then who was it?”

The king stopped and turned back to the company.  “She is a dwarrowdam we need to help.”

“But who is she?”

Thorin set his jaw and turned his back on the company.  He knew _exactly_ who it was, and he felt his heartache grow as his anger simmered and died.  His hands clenched into fists.  “Does it really matter what her name is?”  He didn’t mean to yell.  Licking his lips, he took in a deep, calming breath.  Releasing it, he left the hall to head back to his chambers to wash off the sweat he’d built up from the fight.

Dwalin watched Thorin stalk away and turned sharply at Ori.  “Was it Dina or Dinna?”

“Dina,” Ori responded.  “Why?”

“Dinna was Frérin’s One.  We lost her at the Battle of Azanulbizar,” Balin responded as he gazed in the direction that Thorin had gone in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul used:  
> Nungbâha = loveable idiot  
> ukhbab mudtuê = forger of my heart


	4. Chapter 3

Donnabelle was not proud of herself.  How could she have been so stupid when she chose to use a name that sounded so similar to Frérin’s best friend?  She looked up from the last book she shelved to Ori.  The dwarf had been quietly working beside her all morning and he stopped just as she did.

“Ori,” she began.

“Yes?”

“My name isn’t Dina.”

Ori looked up from the shelf he was working at.  “We know.”

“We?” Donnabelle asked with a frown.

“We,” Balin put in, coming out from behind the bookshelf Donnabelle and Ori were working at.  The snowy-haired dwarf looked the two librarians over.  “Thorin told us you need some sort of help?”  The hobbit looked the advisor over and slowly nodded.  “Ori told us that you were injured during the Battle.  Mind telling us what happened?”

“I fought.  The orcs tormented me with the deaths of my family for I don’t know how long.  They told me they were going to destroy each and every last member before they finally finished with me.  They started with my… child.  Then they cracked some ribs and left me for dead.  My physical wounds may have healed, but…”

Balin took in a deep breath.  “But emotional scars take longer.  What’s your name?”

Donnabelle refused to look up at the two dwarrow and she shrugged.

“Surely you must have a name.”

But the hobbit, whom Balin and Ori thought was a dwarrowdam, refused to say a word.  She bit the inside of her lower lip and gazed down at her clenched hands.  Both of these dwarrow had been so kind to her throughout their quest and yet they were some of the first to forget her when they had finally reclaimed the mountain.

Balin looked over the young dam and furrowed his brow.  “Who hurt you?”

Donnabelle shifted her gaze up slightly.  She knew the advisor was asking more of her emotional state and he hadn’t been referring to the damage she had suffered under the hands of the orcs.  But she still refused to speak of her name or of the people who had truly hurt her.

“Do you have family that can help?” Ori asked innocently.  He did not really expect the most damage his friend had suffered from was from her family.  After all, he knew his own family was dysfunctional and still they were there for one another if something was wrong.  Donnabelle slowly lifted her gaze up to look at the younger dwarf.  There was a mixture of agony and longing in her eyes.  Family… weren’t they the ones that discarded her in the first place after they reached Erebor?  But Ori’s hopeful gaze held hers and he gave her an awkward smile.

“Is there anyone you want to talk to?” Balin asked.  She turned her attention on the snowy-haired dwarf.  Lifting her hand up, she began playing with the marriage bead.  “Your husband?”

A small smile appeared on her face as he guessed correctly.  But moments later, it dropped and she lowered her gaze again.  Balin reached out to squeeze her shoulder and she pulled away.  The advisor quickly pulled his hand away.

“Is your husband in the mountain?”  The two dwarrow received a nod as an answer.  “And what does he call you?”

Donnabelle looked at Ori and deliberately rolled her eyes before she shook her head slightly.  The young dwarf laughed slightly.  “Okay, okay.  We don’t want to know.”

Balin frowned.  “How can you understand what she meant, Ori?”

“Because he learnt to read my body language the three weeks I worked here before I spoke Westron again,” Donnabelle answered.  She then looked both dwarrow over before she sighed.  “I… I’ll talk to him.”

Balin gave her an encouraging smile.  It fell from his face when she asked, **~How are you really doing, Mister Balin?~**

**~Some days are better than others.~**

**~I miss Donnabelle,~** Ori admitted.

 **~And Óin,~** Balin added.  Donnabelle swallowed hard and looked away from the pair.  She missed them and Óin as well.  But until she looked like herself again, she couldn’t tell them that.

**ACIEACIE**

A knock came at Thorin’s bedchamber door two nights after _their_ fight.  Thorin had little sleep since then.  He was surprised at how skilled Donnabelle was.  There had been no indication of her ferocity and precision throughout their journey to Erebor.  But it shouldn’t have surprised him when he thought of Frérin… and of the day his brother had sacrificed his life for the slim chance Donnabelle could escape.

If he had been in Donnabelle’s position, he would have learnt all he could to defend himself so that he didn’t feel helpless again.  He rubbed his eyes and moved to his bedchamber door.  It was oddly similar to the last time Donnabelle had joined him in the dead of the night.  When he spotted the small, elflike ears on his nephew’s face, Thorin stepped aside and allowed Donnabelle to enter his chamber.

“You don’t have to knock, you know,” he told her quietly as he closed the door behind her.  His shoulders slumped.  “Are you going to stay?”  Donnabelle worried her lower lip and couldn’t bring herself to look up at him.  The dark-haired king felt his heart sink.  She wasn’t.  She would never stay until morning.  “Please, Amrâlimê.  I need to hear your voice.”

She swallowed and finally brought her eyes up to meet his.  _[I’m scared, Thorin.  I’m frightened that I won’t ever heal from this.]_

His gaze softened slightly, despite being angry with her and with himself.  “I’m scared too.  I don’t know if I’ll ever get my wife back.”  He was not even aware he understood her spoken words.

Donnabelle frowned.  She knew she had spoken in Hobbitish.  And it had been deliberate.  _[You can understand me?]_

Thorin frowned at the hesitancy he heard in her voice.  He looked her over.  “You’re speaking Westron.”

She shook her head.  Her brows furrowed deeper, thinking of all the implications that came with him understanding Hobbitish.  There had only been one other instance that she knew of where an outsider knew of the bell-like language.  That had also been with a Changeling who had triggered their natural defences while trying to protect their family.

The hobbit in question had taken an elven wife and a child had been born of their union.  As they were travelling between the Shire and her home in Lothlórien, they had been attacked and the child had been killed.  He had been wounded badly in the defence of his wife and child, thus triggering the natural defences of any Changeling when they were emotionally compromised and physically traumatised.  The elf did not know that he had managed to do that, nor that he was only able to speak only Hobbitish until after he had healed enough to speak Westron again as she was able to understand him.

Donnabelle knew that the elven woman actually helped her Changeling husband heal through the worst of his trauma and through his warring emotions.  Nothing in the Shire histories really spoke of how the couple had bonded or of how their bond worked.  All that Donnabelle really knew was that if a Changeling was bonded (and it was rarely anything other than a very close marriage partnership) to another soul, the soul of their bonded partner became their anchor.  And that meant she and Thorin had bonded without her being aware of it.

 _[I’m not, Thorin,]_ she whispered.  She took in a shuddering breath.  What did that mean for the two of them?  His strong arms reached out for her and pulled her against his bare chest.  She balled up her fists and hit his chest a few times before she let out a soft mewling sound.  _[I am so mad at you.  All of you.  And myself.  When…]_   She drew in another shuddering breath and Thorin felt her tremble.  He ran his hand along her spine as he securely held her waist against his body.  The dwarf bit his lower lip.  There was nothing he could say to make up for what he knew he had done and inflicted on her during those two weeks of madness.  _[When Smaug…]_

He planted a kiss on her forehead and began to slowly rock them back and forth.  Soon, he felt her relax against him, though she was still trembling because of her tears.  “Amrâlimê,” he whispered against her forehead.  “We’ll get through this.”  But could he really believe that if he wasn’t sure about what was keeping them apart?  And, if she wasn’t speaking Westron (and he knew she hadn’t spoken either Khuzdul or Sindarin), what language was she speaking in and _why_ could he understand her?

A tear slipped down his own cheek and he felt his lips twitch a little.  He rested his cheek on her head.  “We’re a fine pair, my little burglar.”

She sniffed and gave him a watery laugh.  _[I’m sorry.]_

“I don’t blame you.”  He pulled her closer to him and rested his hand on her shoulder blades.  “We should probably get some sleep.”  She nodded against him.  Without warning, she was lifted into his arms and was carried to his bed.  She nuzzled her face into his left shoulder and reached up to thread her hand around his marriage braid.  He nuzzled his own face into her hair and breathed in her natural scent.  Placing her in the middle of his bed, Thorin climbed in after her and pulled up the furs around them.  He snaked his arms around her once more and pulled her flush against him.  She settled her head back against his shoulder and found his marriage braid once more.  He placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

He felt her kiss his shoulder.  “I do love you, kurdula.”

“And I, you,” he returned.  “I miss you.  So much.”

**ACIEACIE**

_‘Thorin,_

_‘I may still be mad at you for what happened when we first got to the mountain.  I’m working on that.  But I am grateful for the two nights you’ve allowed me to stay with you.  It means more to me than you can possibly imagine.  I needed to know you were still alive and that you still love me.  I need that certainty for me to recover._

_‘I struggle what happened during the Battle and that I can’t ‘be’ myself right now.  And it’s hard to let people close without watching what I say all the time.  That makes my recovery time that much more difficult.  But now, knowing that you understand the language of the Hobbits, you have given me hope that we will get through this.  I can’t tell you when, but without you and the nights you’ve given me, I think I would have disappeared back to the Shire without anyone being the wiser.  I’m still trying to process the fact you could understand me last night._

_‘Balin raised a valid point a few days ago when I spoke to him.  It may help me heal quicker.  I need to be able to talk to somebody about the last few months, yet I still remember what Dáin said the day of the Battle.  I think it will help me if I can tell our story to the dwarrow that are living here.  And it will help if I can hear for myself what the company truly think of their hobbit without them knowing it’s me telling of our journey._

_‘I won’t though if you don’t think it would work to change the dwarrow opinions of outsiders.  I could maybe find another way to talk about and process everything that has gone on in the last few months.  But I don’t think it would be as effective as if I told others of the journey to Erebor._

_‘Always yours.’_

 

Thorin had a slight smile on his face and he ran his hand over the closing of the letter.  He had found the note in his office that morning after waking up alone once more.  Donnabelle hadn’t had the courage to stay until morning, but that hadn’t really surprised him.  Not after the first time she’d joined him for comfort; that first night he’d thought was a dream until he read her first letter to him in this very same office.  Placing the letter down, he sighed.  He wasn’t sure what to make of Donnabelle’s change in attitude.  Her anger at him burned brightly, yet it seemed that it burned quickly to be replaced by a rational thinking hobbit.  And from her missive, it seemed that she knew what exactly was going on with her.

It also appeared that she was trying her best to get better so that they _could_ be together once more.  Some, no, all of her suggestions were actually reasonable.  He remembered what Dáin had said the day he had arrived from the Iron Hills, and how insulted he felt on Donnabelle’s behalf.  It wouldn’t hurt if he allowed her to tell others of their journey, would it?  And if it helped her feel safe in the mountain, then he couldn’t really take that from her.  But oh, how he wished she could just open up to him about what was really going on in her mind and why she was stuck looking like a dwarf instead of a hobbit.  Instead of looking like _Donnabelle._

He snatched her latest letter off his desk and hid it in the second drawer down when he heard a knock at his office door.  “Come.”

Balin entered the office and made his way to Thorin’s desk.  At the entrance of his oldest friend and advisor, Thorin gave the other dwarf a tight smile.  “What is on the schedule today?”

“We have open court this morning and a council meeting with the men just after lunch.  You also promised to oversee the clearing of some of the West Wing living areas.  Fíli and Kíli are handling the delegations from the Woodland Realm.  Oh, and this came from Rohan.”  The advisor handed over the letter that had come from King Fengel.

“Thank you.”  Thorin took the letter off Balin and began to read.  Before he got too far, he looked up from the missive and asked, “Balin, what is the general opinion of having humans living within the mountain?”

“There was, and still is, a lot of animosity between the dwarrow and men,” the advisor replied.  “But we are learning to work together.”  When Balin saw a pensive look on his king’s face, he sent a questioning look his way.  “What is this about?”

Thorin did not look up from the letter he held from Rohan’s king.  “What is the attitude toward hobbits?”  He looked up when Balin did not reply and he took in a shaky breath.  Out of all the surviving members of the company, Balin and Dwalin were the two that were closest to Thorin.  Neither had given thought to how their friend and leader was doing.  Until the advisor caught a brief, haunted look in Thorin’s eyes before they looked back down at the letter that he had received from Rohan.  “What if Donnabelle had survived?  If she and the baby had lived to see Erebor restored?  Would they be accepted?”

Balin closed his eyes and flopped down on the chair opposite Thorin.  So that was what the questioning was about.  It was the first time in weeks that the advisor had heard his king mention the burglar’s name.  “Not as queen.  Nor would your child.”

“How would one change that?”  Thorin finally shifted his gaze up to his long-time friend and advisor.  His eyes were heavy with self-doubt and concern.  Self-doubt because he was not sure if he _could_ make the right decision for the future of both his One and his kingdom, and concern that no matter what he decided, he felt he was about to lose his One for good.  And there was no way for him to share that with Balin.  Because, as far as he was aware, he was the only one within the Mountain that actually knew Donnabelle had survived her encounter with Azog.  There had not been one whisper of any of the company piecing together the dam he fought had been _his_ One and not Frérin’s.

“I don’t know,” Balin responded quietly.

Thorin nodded.  He felt his eyes drawn to the second drawer in his desk where he had hastily hidden her second letter to him.  Perhaps she had the right idea and telling others of the truth of their journey.  But did he really want to fuel the rumour mills with tall tales of very unheroic things?  He knew that there were parts of their journey he did _not_ want to be made public.

“Thank you, Balin,” the dwarven king said.  “If you can think of a way to change how the dwarrow and men relate and cut the animosity down, please let me know.”

Balin gave a short bow, knowing that he had been dismissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Amrâlimê is “my love”  
> Kurdula is “my heart of all hearts”


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rumours begin

Donnabelle made her way down through the small markets the women of Lake-town had set up to sell their craft goods.  She had found if she walked amongst the people living in the mountain, she heard tales of the King under the Mountain and could understand the man better by how he was perceived by his subjects and allies.

In the week she had mingled with the men, Donnabelle had heard nothing but good things about the dwarven king.  He was fair in all his dealings with Bard and had not backed down with protecting his own people either.  Safety was paramount and that showed when dwarrow pointed out areas to avoid to the people of Lake-town.  The hobbit smiled to herself as she ducked into one of the stalls.  It so happened to be the stall that Bofur had set up with Bifur to sell their wooden toys to mothers of small children.

Nothing had been said about the trouncing she’d given Thorin nearly nine days previous.  A tug on her worn (and borrowed) skirt had Donnabelle looking down at a small human child she’d met three days before.

“Signý, have you come to tell stories?” the four-year-old asked.  And the hobbit knew she looked like that lost sixteen-year-old human that had been found just after the battle.

The hobbit knelt and asked with a wink, “You want a story, huh?  What about a gardening story?”  The boy shook his head.  “Then what?”

“Heroes!”

“Ahh!  You want a story with a hero in it?”  The boy nodded his head vigorously.  “Okay, go get the others.”  Donnabelle worried her lip as the little boy darted away from the stall to gather a few of the other smaller children from the market place.  She turned to the two dwarrow and gave them an apologetic look.  “Mister Bifur, Mister Bofur, would you mind terribly if I entertained the children around here somewhere?”

“There’s a bench you can use right there,” Bofur said, pointing to the said bench just outside his stall.

“Thank you.”

“No problem Miss,” Bifur said with a grin.  Donnabelle tried not to show her surprise when Bifur spoke in Westron; all during the quest, the dwarf hadn’t been able to speak in anything other than Khuzdul.  But she couldn’t think on it for too long as little Brant returned with his brother, Fiske, and five other children from the area.  Brant pulled on her skirts.

“Please, Signý.  You promised.”

Donnabelle smiled at the small boy and went to sit on the bench.  The seven children gathered around her.  “Brant asked me for a story with heroes in it.  There is one story I heard about King Thorin and his journey here…  But I don’t think you’d want to hear that.”

“Oh, please, please, please, please, please!”

Donnabelle had a teasing smile on her face.  “Okay, okay,” she told the children with a laugh.  Bofur and Bifur smiled at each other at the teasing tone of the teen.  They were curious as well.  What story would this human girl know of their journey back to reclaim Erebor?  “You have all heard that King Thorin travelled with twelve of his kin – twelve other dwarves – and one small hobbit, yes?”  The children nodded and got comfortable.  Brant got himself comfy sitting in Donnabelle’s lap and threaded his hand into her bodice.  The hobbit sighed and wrapped her arms around the four-year-old.  Where was she to begin with her tale without raising the suspicion of Bifur and Bofur?

The corner of her lips twitched.  Most people believed that Signý had been held captive by the orcs and by Azog in particular.  The tale of Thorin confronting the Defiler would probably be a good place to start.  “Well, there are many tales from along their journey and I only heard of one.  It was about half way through their journey to come here.  King Thorin had led his company through the Misty Mountains and they had been captured by goblins.  By the time the orcs were told, they had managed to escape the tunnels beneath the mountains with the help of Gandalf the Grey.  The thirteen dwarrow and the wizard realised that they were one person short.”

“The hobbit?” Fiske suggested hesitantly.

Donnabelle turned to the six-year-old.  “Yes.  They had lost the hobbit, the fourteenth member of their company.  Somehow, they had been divided within the mountain and…” she paused and looked around the children expectantly.  “Can you tell me what her name was?”

One of the older boys worried his lip as he tried to think of the name that nearly every person within the mountain knew.  “Donnabelle!” he exclaimed.

“That’s right.  Her name was Donnabelle.  She found them and King Thorin was glad that the small hobbit was safe.  You see, he was very worried about bringing her on the quest.  He was afraid that he might lose her and the rest of his family trying to reclaim his homeland.  King Thorin cares deeply about his family and wants to provide a safe home for them.  And he couldn’t do that for her while they were traveling.”

“But if he was so worried about her, why did he let her come?”

“Because she disguised herself as a boy.  King Thorin did not realise until it was much too late to send her home.  So he tried his best to keep her, and the rest of his family, safe.  So after they escaped the mountains, the company were chased to the edge of a cliff by wargs and orcs.  The only way they could keep themselves safe was if they climbed up some trees.  But there was one thing most, if not all, of the dwarrow did not know: Hobbits are not made for heights and Donnabelle very much disliked climbing up the trees.”

Bifur and Bofur looked at each other.  They had not known their hobbit was afraid of heights.  Nor did they realise that the human teen knew so much about Shirelings.

“How do you know Donnabelle was afraid of heights?” Brant asked.

“The orcs with Azog described the hobbit as a small, frightened child that clung to the dwarven leader when the fifteen of them were stuck up the fir tree.”

The two eavesdropping dwarrow closed their eyes.  They remembered the terrified look in Donnabelle’s eyes when they first mentioned climbing trees.  They recalled the smoke and flames from the pine cones.  They remembered how Donnabelle had not participated in throwing the burning missiles down at their advancing enemy.  She had stubbornly clung to the tree trunk and sought out Thorin to reassure herself that things would go well.  It had only been after Azog appeared and Thorin forgot about what was happening at that moment that Donnabelle had begun doing something more than cling to the tree for dear life.

“The wargs managed to knock over the tree the dwarrow, Gandalf and the hobbit were in.  The tree fell over and hung out over the side of a cliff.  It seemed hopeless to the dwarrow and they dared not think they would escape.  Azog bore down on them and King Thorin wanted to protect his people from being killed.  I guess he did not want to watch as the orcs killed each and every one of those brave souls.  So he decided to fight the Pale Orc before Azog could take the last of his family from him.  He valiantly defended the base of the fir tree that held his people until the other dwarrow could join him in protecting their hobbit.  All thirteen dwarrow thought that if they were to die, they were happy to die fighting for the small hobbit they had grown to love.

“But Gandalf would have none of that.  The wizard had an escape plan: the eagles.  They came and scooped up the dwarrow, the hobbit and the wizard, helping the fifteen of them escape from Azog the Defiler.”  Donnabelle gave the children a smile.

“King Thorin must have been very brave to face the Pale Orc like that, huh, Signý?”

“Very brave,” the hobbit turned teenaged girl agreed.

Bofur frowned and stopped the children from dispersing.  “Wait, you forgot to mention the bravery of our Donnabelle.”

Donnabelle frowned.  “I’m sorry, what are you talking about Master Dwarf?”

“We were some of the dwarrow that followed King Thorin on the quest.  My cousin, Bifur, and me.  We were part of that company.  You never mentioned Donnabelle’s effort in our escape from the orcs.”

The hobbit’s frown deepened.  “I didn’t hear that part.”

“You wouldn’t now, would you?  Why would the orcs admit to being bested by the smallest, kindest creature in all of Arda?”

“And also one of the most fierce,” Bifur put in.

The children clambered around the two dwarrow.  “Tell us about her… please?” they pleaded.  “How can a hobbit be fierce?”

“Was she really that brave?” Brant asked, tugging on Bofur’s tunic.

Donnabelle raised her eyebrow and shrugged her shoulders at the two dwarrow.  Bofur and Bifur looked at her and she raised her hands palms up to them as if to say, ‘you were the ones that brought that up.’  Did they truly see her as the smallest, kindest creature they knew, as well as the fiercest?

“Yes, she really was brave,” Bifur responded.  Donnabelle could pick up on the truth of his words.  She found a warmth settle in her stomach.  Here was a dwarf she had travelled with for months (who had only spoken Khuzdul throughout their journey, likely because of the axe that was no longer embedded into his skull), praising her bravery when she hadn’t felt all that brave.  “And yes, she was very fierce.”

“Far fiercer than a dragon,” Bofur added with a twinkle in his eye.  “But we would rather face her any day over a dragon.”

“Why?”

“Because, little one, Donnabelle will only be fierce when she is protecting the ones she claims as family.  Family does not have to be about the blood you share; it can also mean the family you choose to share your heart with.  And she showed us that the day we were trapped in the fir tree, surrounded by flames and orcs.”  Bofur swallowed and looked down at the small child at his side.  Somehow, he had ended up sitting cross-legged outside his and Bifur’s stall.  Bifur was sitting right beside him.  Both dwarrow had children surrounding them and one had even climbed into Bifur’s lap.  Neither dwarf saw the gathering crowd of Lake-men and dwarrow gathering around them as the tale grew.  Their focus was on the small number of children that were intent on hearing their tale.  “We did not know Donnabelle was afraid of heights and we also forgot that she was injured while she was lost to us in the goblin tunnels.  But when King Thorin went to confront Azog the Defiler, we were all afraid that we would lose our king that day if it hadn’t been for the bravery of our fierce little hobbit.”

“She only had her small elven blade, not much more than a knife in the hands of a grown man,” Bifur explained.  “Perhaps it would be no longer than Miss Signý’s arm.  We weren’t expecting her to kill the orc that was trying to kill our King, but she did.”

“Once she did that, Donnabelle – our brave, fierce protector – placed herself firmly between Azog, an orc almost four times her size, and King Thorin’s unconscious form.  She gave us enough time to get ourselves on firm footing again to join the fight.”

The children all gasped, and so did a number of the larger audience.  “Did Donnabelle really save King Thorin’s life?” Fiske asked.

Both dwarrow nodded.  “She really did.”

Donnabelle, knowing that she could easily slip away into the crowd, did just that.  If she stayed out in the open where at least Bifur and Bofur could see her, they would ask if everything was all right.  She knew she was; yet she also knew she needed time to process what the two dwarrow had said about her.  A small smile ghosted across her face.  They truly thought of her as their protector.  Their fierce, little, lovable hobbit.  That meant more to her than anything else she could have gotten from them.

She wiped her eyes and found the corners of them to be damp.  What was it with her over-stimulated emotions?  It was a good thing, though.  She felt loved, and _wanted_ , by two of the dwarrow that mattered the most to her.

**ACIEACIE**

The next few weeks fell into a routine for Donnabelle.  The mornings she spent with Ori in the library, with the occasional visit from Balin, and in the afternoons found her wandering around the various areas that were open in Erebor.  Sometimes, she found herself down in the markets of the men, mostly spending her time near the stall of Bifur and Bofur.  Other times, she was on the training grounds with Dwalin and sometimes Fíli and Kíli.  She was always found in the open court sessions and was occasionally joined by Nori.  Nori found she was a source of very useful information that he couldn’t get otherwise in his position as spymaster.  Still other times, Donnabelle found herself drawn to the treasury where Glóin and Dori worked together.  And she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work in the kitchens with Bombur.

It was during those weeks before spring came in full force that Donnabelle got into full ‘Took’ gossip mode after the success of her first tale.  And over the course of simply telling her tale of the journey to Erebor, the hobbit found herself healing in ways she did not expect.  It brought a smile to her face when she also overheard the dwarrow she travelled with defending her memory.  She blushed when she heard their blatant praise at her actions throughout their journey.  Hearing the eleven dwarrow that became her family did wonders in building up her trust in them again.

Yet Donnabelle knew that she needed more than trust in her nine naddad and two irakdashshat.  She needed to rebuild her trust in Thorin himself.

A frown graced her features and she withdrew into a small alcove as she thought about that.  What stopped her from trusting Thorin, above all else?  He had shown her time and time again in the months since she had gone to him for comfort that he was _not_ the dwarf caught under the curse of his line.  She knew he had not once stepped foot in the treasury since the day she’d told him of their child.  He’d tried to be patient with her, and for the most part, succeeded.

Of course, there had been times when she’d visited his chambers at night that he’d lost his temper with her.  She had gotten frustrated as well; she had been unable to explain to him what exactly she needed so she could return to her natural form.  Those nights, neither of them really got a decent night’s sleep, nor did they speak through their letters until they both blew off steam on the training grounds.  Dwalin learned to watch for the signs: if either Donnabelle or Thorin came to the training grounds fuming after one of their arguments, the burly dwarf knew that the other would not be far behind.  He’d learnt to dismiss the warriors he was training to the mines after the second match between the arguing pair nearly ended after only twenty minutes with Donnabelle pressing her knife into Thorin’s neck.  It didn’t after Donnabelle expressed her anger over Thorin pulling his blows so not to strike her that the match continued (again, with Thorin pulling some of his blows).  By the end of that second match, Donnabelle was more infuriated at the dwarven king

That match, and their third, was the wake-up call the hobbit had needed to realise trust was a two way street.  Her trust in Thorin had been fully restored after he showed he could wisely rule a kingdom and listen to advice from people not his race.  He was willing to work with both men and elves to see Erebor return to its former glory.  And she could trust that he would listen to her and take her advice into consideration.  He was learning when to push her and when to back off and give her space.  She was learning to rely on him and have him look after her.  At least, in the ways that he could while she was hidden as a dwarf. 

Having him seemingly distrust her to protect herself from his attacks was a blow she hadn’t been expecting.  It was as if he did not trust her to know her limits or call it quits when he got too close.  And in so saying that, it was as if he was saying he did not trust her to protect _him_ when he needed someone to stand up to him.  How much had he let her in?  How much did he trust _her_ with his innermost being?  He hadn’t shown her that he trusted her to stop his blows when he held back.  And that, to Donnabelle, hurt more than anything else Thorin had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naddad = brothers  
> Irakdashshat = nephews


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Company dinner and an altercation in the men's camp...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone once asked me what Donnabelle had against the men of Lake-town. In this chapter (and in the story, _Frerin's Slave Life_ ), we find out exactly why she dislikes the men of Long Lake so much.  
> This chapter is set at the beginning of April, at the beginnings of Spring, nearly five and a half months after the Battle of the Five Armies, which was in mid-November.

Thorin knew that Donnabelle was still mad at him over their fight.  He truly hadn’t meant to pull his blows when he attacked, but he had anyway.  For their child’s sake, he justified.  There was no way he wanted to be the one responsible for hurting her or their child.  But in so doing that, he hurt her anyway.  She had made that abundantly clear when she did not join him at night for nearly a full ten days after their second training session, and nearly as long after their third sparring match.

It was after their third match that he found an explanation over why it hurt her when he pulled back.

 

_‘Thorin, you stubborn, pig-headed son of an orc!_

_‘Do you not trust me?  Have you forgotten WHO trained me in weaponry?  Frérin would never DARE to hold back when we sparred just to spare my feelings.  He expected, and demanded, that either I learn to deflect his blows or I suffer the consequences.  And that got me working.  I knew what pain was and I can handle it.  REMEMBER, you CLOT HEAD, I was a SLAVE!  You’ve seen my whipping scars.  Some date back to my earliest memories._

_‘So, don’t you ever DARE treat me like a fragile flower.  I will not break, unless YOU drive me to it.  I fear it’s already beginning.  It’s hard to accept what happened on Ravenhill and I blame myself for the actions that led to losing…  And when you pulled your blows, essentially it’s telling me you blame me too.  You showed me that you do not trust me to protect myself, and in so doing that, you showed me that you do not trust me to protect you or any children we might have.  Trust is a fragile thing, Thorin.  I’ve been working so hard to trust you again, after what happened before.  And mostly, I did.  Until you told me I was not worth trusting yourself with when you held back in our sparring matches._

_‘For me to trust you, you will need to trust me.  There will be times when we will argue and fight.  But underneath it all, I want to trust you.  I want to be loved by you.  For this to work, ukhbab mudtuê, we need to… I don’t know.  I don’t have the answers, kurdula.’_

 

Thorin took in a shaky breath when he read the latest missive from Donnabelle.  He had not realised she blamed herself for the loss of their child.  Nor did he realise his actions could be seen as someone who also blamed her for something she had no control over.  It hadn’t seemed real before, the loss of their child, but having it eluded to in her note made it more real.

And he knew Donnabelle was right.  He had forgotten that she had been a slave.  She had not just been a slave, but she’d been a slave with Frérin.  Frérin would have taught her the basics of self-protection.  He would have trusted her to look after herself to get to safety.  Yet, Donnabelle wouldn’t, _hadn’t_ been above asking for help when she truly needed it.  The dwarf ran his hand over his face.  He knew he hadn’t shown the same courtesy toward Donnabelle that Frérin would have.  Thorin _hadn’t_ allowed her to practice properly when he pulled his blows. 

And, in doing that, hadn’t shown her the caring king she knew him to be.  Oh, Mahal.  If it had been Dís he’d been fighting, he wouldn’t have had the urge to pull back from using his full strength.  He trusted his sister to know when to deflect and when to move.  He implicitly trusted his namadith to have his back.  The only time he wouldn’t have sparred with Dís was when she’d been pregnant with Fíli or Kíli.

Why couldn’t he afford the same courtesy for his _wife?_   He knew that Donnabelle had more skill than he was aware of during their first sparring match.  But he still pulled his blows during their second and third matches.  Maybe it had been his way of not facing the fact they had lost their precious gem.  But maybe it spoke of the larger issue of him not wanting to let her in.

Thorin slid the note into the desk drawer where he kept his other notes from Donnabelle.  He really did not want to go to the company dinner that night, yet he knew that if he skipped it, the others would begin to wonder about him.  His sour mood from Donnabelle’s well-meant scolding would be picked up by the others – especially by Balin and Dwalin.  Fíli and Kíli perhaps would not be as rambunctious that night if he just sent them one black glare.

He was about to leave the office when he spotted the second note on his desk from Donnabelle.  The note was much shorter than the first.

_‘Plot against the company.  Dwarrow from the Iron Hills working with the Hounds of Esgaroth.  The first target is Glóin in three days.  Nori has further details.  – Gem.’_

The dwarf picked up the note and took it to dinner with him.  When he entered the dining and living room the company used, all of the surviving members were in there and waiting for his arrival.  Most of them immediately picked up on the king’s dark mood.

“Everything alright?” Nori asked.

Thorin turned to the thief and handed him the note from Donnabelle.  He moved to the table and sat in his usual space at the head of the table.  The chair to his left was left empty, as it had been so since the Battle.  The dwarf found his focus drawn to the chair as the others joined him at the table.  As the last chair slid into place, Thorin lifted his gaze and felt his heart constrict.  There were two empty places at the table – in memory of the two of their company that they had lost.  And it was hard to bear when his eyes took in the order they were sitting in.  To Thorin’s left, there were six spaces: an empty one, then Dwalin, then the second empty chair, then Nori, Kíli and Fíli.  At the opposite end of the table sat Bombur.  From Bombur to Thorin along the other side of the table sat Ori, Dori, Bifur, Glóin, Balin and Bofur.

And suddenly, the whole company grew silent.  They were aware of the two missing members of their company, and how their current gathering was an echo of that long-ago night they met Donnabelle Baggins in the Shire.  Thorin bowed his head for a moment and the others followed suit.  They only began eating after Thorin did.

Nori looked up at Thorin and the older dwarf gave a slight nod at the note the spymaster still held.  The tri-peaked dwarf returned the nod and cleared his throat.  “Over the past week, there has been rumblings of a plot to discredit the line of Durin.”

“What do you mean?” Kíli asked from his position beside the spymaster.

“There are those out there that believe that the line of Durin is cursed,” Nori responded.  “They are waiting for any one of you to show the signs of succumbing to the dragon sickness.”

“But haven’t we been through this?” Fíli asked.

“Yes,” Balin put in.  “But because of what Donnabelle did for us at the gate, no one outside this company knows that.  Not even Bard could confirm or deny Thorin fell to the dragon sickness.  We all know that her words to Bard on the wall that day was something we _all_ would have said without the influence of gold.  There was no way we would treat with people when we feel threatened.  Having an armed host at our door was something none of us were prepared to overlook.”

“They are afraid that because I am in morning for my wife, I will be more susceptible to the gold lust,” Thorin quietly added.  “Either that or they think we made up Donnabelle’s existence.  Outside this company, there were not many dwarrow that met Donnabelle before the battle.”

“The rumours?” Ori asked.

“At this point, most will think that they cannot possibly true,” Glóin said.  “Point stands: there are people out there that want to see this company shatter.  Beginning with me.”

“Yes,” Nori agreed with a frown.  “Gem tell you that?”

“When she spoke to me last week.”

“Who’s Gem?” Bofur asked.

Dwalin smirked.  “The dam that trounced Thorin.  Three times.  She won the first match because he–” the warrior pointed at the dark-haired king, “– got distracted checking to see if Ori’s words were true.  But the second and third matches she won because _Thorin_ decided to be an idiot.”

Thorin groaned.  “You’re never going to let me live that down are you?”

“Nope,” came the warrior’s barking laugh.  “Mohilâli harubaz hubma.  She has every right to be mad at you.  You were not giving the matches your full and she could have killed you several times over if she hadn’t been so skilled.”

“Is Dina… Gem really that good?”

Dwalin’s smirk grew.  “She could hold her own against Thorin for a good hour and a half their first match.  The other matches would’ve lasted just as long if _some_ one had put his back into it.”

 **~Enough!~** Thorin barked out, slamming his hand down on the table.  “She has already made her ire known.  You do not need to harp on about it.”  The frosty stare of the king connected with each and every one of the company and they shrank slightly from the dark gaze of their king.  “Any of you.”  When he received nods from his company that they would not mention it again (in his presence at least), Thorin turned his attention back to the spymaster.  “Nori.”

“Anyone heard of the Hounds of Esgaroth?”

Most shook their heads.  In fact, they all did except for Balin and Dwalin.  Balin’s shoulder’s slumped and the snowy-haired dwarf sighed.  “Are they in the mountain?”

Before anyone could answer, there came a knock at the door.  “Come,” Thorin called out.  A young messenger came into the room and nervously looked around the company.  The king’s gaze soften a little as he took in the nervousness of the boy.  “Yes?”

“There’s been an altercation, Sire.”

Thorin took in the dwarf’s stance.  “What happened?”

“King Bard is asking for your presence in dealing with a disturbance near the market place of the humans.  He would deal with it himself it if had not been for the dwarrowdam asking specifically for someone from the… the company of King Thorin Oakenshield.”  The dwarf swallowed as he saw Thorin’s eyes narrow on him.

“Her name?” Balin asked.

“None was given, sir.  Except… she wasn’t speaking Westron.  Other than demanding one of your company, Your Highness, we could not understand her spoken language.”

“Gem,” Ori breathed.

“There’s something more.  She kept repeating one word in Iglishmek.  The word for Hound.  It doesn’t make any sense.”

Thorin’s jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed.  “Balin, Dwalin.  You’re with me.  The rest of you, stay here.  Nori.”  Nori nodded, all joking aside.  The rest of the company set their jaws and turned to look at the spymaster in preparation for an explanation.  Thorin, Balin and Dwalin got up from the table and followed the messenger out of the room.

**ACIEACIE**

Thorin, Balin and Dwalin, along with a few guards, made their way down to the marketplace.  Bard was already there and he was doing his best to calm the crowd down while also holding the accused man in containment.

The dwarrowdam who had first called Thorin, Balin and Dwalin to the area had her back to one of the stone walls.  Her knife was drawn and held in her right hand.  From what the three dwarrow could tell from the dam’s stance, she was bravely trying to keep herself strong until help arrived.  She did not see them at first as she kept her gaze firmly locked on her surroundings, looking for an escape route if she needed it.

Thorin frowned, taking in her stance.  If he hadn’t known exactly who she was, he did not think he would have picked up how terrified she was.  He cleared his throat and looked around the gathered crowd.  His voice was low and came out as a rumble around the one syllable of “Gem.”

She blinked and looked at the three dwarrow that had just arrived.  Her lower lip trembled and she almost lost her composure with the sympathetic looks sent her way by Dwalin and Balin.  Slowly, she dropped her arm and desperately wanted to curl up in Thorin’s arms.

“What happened?” Dwalin demanded.  He knew that ‘Gem’ was a capable warrior in her own right and there was little that phased her.  So to see her barely holding it together (and somehow, he knew she would until she was in a more private setting with people she trusted), really rattled him.  No one messed with one of _his_ dwarrow.  Especially not a dam he found himself wanting to protect.

 _[What language am I speaking?]_ When Donnabelle saw the confusion on all (bar Thorin’s) faces, she figured that she’d just spoken in Hobbitish.

Thorin closed his eyes briefly before he looked at Balin.  “Use Iglishmek.  Find out what you can.”  Balin nodded and turned to Donnabelle.  Thorin’s attention snapped to the man that was held firmly by two of Bard’s men.  “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing that warranted that reaction!” the man responded.  “I may have offered her payment for her services.”

“What kind of services?”

“Of the physical kind,” someone from the crowd spoke up.  “That’s what I heard her say.”

Balin whirled around from where he had been speaking to Donnabelle and stepped into the personal space of the accused man.  “Was your father and grandfather members of the ‘Hounds of Esgaroth’?”

Murmurs rose from the crowd.  No one in their right minds would join a group of slave traders and extortionists unless they were forced.  Or they were desperate.  Anyone associated with that particular group was ostracized from polite company since the death of Bard’s wife.

“I want nothing to do with them.  My father left before my mother even knew she was pregnant.  What is this all about?”

Thorin glared and opened his mouth to berate Ingmar.  He didn’t when Dwalin clamped his hand on the dark-haired dwarf’s shoulder.  Both dwarrow were furious, though.

Balin set his jaw.  “Those same traders took many women and children as slaves.  Gem remembers them and how they stole her and her brother away from their family.”

Ingmar paled at the accusation levelled against his father and grandfather.

“How many were taken?” Dwalin growled.  Yet both he and Thorin had a fair guess to how many dwarrow were actually taken by the Hounds.

There was a pause before Balin responded, “At least five dwarrow from Ered Luin when she was taken.  Not all were of the Longbeards.”

Thorin balled his fists up.  He remembered the period when Donnabelle would have been taken well: over the course of about a decade forty years ago, nearly two dozen of his subjects had disappeared without so much as a trace of them.  There was no leads except a name Nori had uncovered: the Hounds of Esgaroth.  And there was little point revealing that to the wider nation to worry them needlessly.  The only ones that actually knew of the slavers in Ered Luin and the halls of Thorin Oakenshield had been Thorin, Dís, Dwalin, Balin, Nori and a few of Dwalin’s most trusted warriors.  As well as Nori’s spy network.

The accused man, Ingmar, felt the full weight of Thorin’s anger, and the anger of two other dwarrow, on him.  When he had first approached Donnabelle to buy her services for the evening, he did not know that she had been one of the dwarrow his father and grandfather had taken nearly forty years before.  But he set his jaw.  It wasn’t _his_ fault he hadn’t known.  All he had wanted was to see if the stories he’d heard from some of the shadier people he knew that were associated with the Hounds that dams were well worth the trouble in subduing.

Bard’s expression darkened.  “If anyone knows of this group, or of its members, present your information to someone you trust in authority.  We will not do business with slave traders, nor with anyone who condones their actions.”

“If you look to buy favours of a more physical nature,” Thorin added; his voice low and coming out a growl; “look within your own people.  My people do not, and will not, sell themselves on a street corner for your pleasure.”

“But…” Ingmar began and then trailed when four dark looks were directed at him.

“Enough,” Bard shot back.  “You heard King Thorin.  No one is to approach the dwarves for buying physical pleasures from them.  We have been fortunate enough to have their help rebuilding Dale _and_ they have opened their homes to us for the winter.”

“Wouldn’t it be the dwarf’s decision to sell themselves for money?” Ingmar asked with a sneer.  “She was basically asking for the attention each time she came here to sell her wares and to tell her tales.”

That snapped something in Donnabelle.  If she had been ‘asking for it’ like the man said, she had not been aware she had.  Whenever she felt threatened (as she had when Ingmar first approached her with his proposition), she generally retreated into herself until someone pushed her too far.  Dwalin saw the fire light behind her blue-grey eyes.  He smirked to himself and raised a hand in an indication that she should do her best.

She gave him a nod and pursed her lips.  Moving past both Balin and Thorin, she stopped within striking distance, yet far enough out of the man’s reach she could get away if she had to.  She was quick and true with her kick.  All of the men winced visibly (especially Dwalin who remembered another well-aimed kick he’d received to the same area) as they heard a sickening crunch.  Many of the women did as well when Ingmar dropped to his knees, cradling his hands in front of his crotch.

“Gem,” Thorin said quietly.  His eyes connected with hers and she picked up on all of his worry and heartache.

_[I did not ask for ‘it’.  I would never…]_

He nodded faintly.  In his heart, he knew that she would never sell herself for someone else’s pleasure.  Not even for his.  Thorin shifted his gaze from Donnabelle to the pathetic form of Ingmar behind her.  Stepping around Donnabelle, he looked down at the man cradling his jam-bags.  “Do not come near Gem again,” the dwarven king snarled.

“She kicked me!  Arrest her.”

“Gem was well within her rights to seek retribution,” Balin growled.  “Be thankful that she only kicked you once, and you will heal.  She has not demanded that you fight her to the death in defence of her honour.”

The man paled more than anyone thought possible.  No one knew which would have been worse: a duel with a very angry dwarrowdam, or several more bone-crushing kicks to his crotch.  The two guards gathered Ingmar up and dragged him off to the holding cell to cool off for the night.

Thorin turned to Bard and addressed the crowd.  “Women in the dwarrow society are treated with respect and honour.  We would never dare take something from them that they are not first offering to us.  They are the ones that holds the future of our nation in their hands.  So unless a woman offers herself freely to a dwarf with clear intentions, we do not even suggest anything improper.  Every man, woman and child has a right to say ‘no’ to something that makes them uncomfortable.  _Especially_ when it comes to shared pleasures of the body.”

Bard was impressed, as were the crowd.  None of the people of Lake-town knew that the dwarrow valued their women and children so much, nor did they know that each and every one of them had a right, and were expected, to say ‘no’ if someone made advances on them that were unwelcomed.

“It seems,” Bard began, “we still have much to learn about one another.”  He turned to the crowd as well.  “This goes for anyone living in Dale or Lake-town.  Protect yourselves and each other.  Be ready to help someone who says ‘no’.  I want everyone to feel safe, not living in fear that there could be attackers out there around every corner.  We need to work together to be able to make this work and remove the trouble makers, these ‘Hounds of Esgaroth’, from our midst.”

Thorin gave a single nod and glanced in Dwalin’s direction.  They had a quick conversation in Iglishmek before the dwarven king turned back to the crowd.  “If anyone wants to learn the basics of self-defence, approach any of the guards working under Dwalin’s command.  They will be willing to give you some instruction.”  He turned from the crowd and approached Donnabelle.  Quietly, he asked, “Are you alright?”

She nodded slightly, before she changed her mind and shook her head.  Thorin felt his heart constrict at that.  He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and soothe away her fears.  But with Dwalin and Balin there, he knew that he couldn’t.  “Is there anything we can do?”  Donnabelle lifted her gaze to meet Thorin’s before she glanced in Balin and Dwalin’s direction.  She wasn’t going to talk about what was truly troubling her until she was alone with Thorin.

The two sons of Fundin frowned and looked at each other.  There was something different with the way Thorin acted around the dwarrowdam.  And the way that she acted around their friend and king.  Dwalin had picked up on the undercurrents that were in the air each time the pair of them sparred.  It was like Gem and Thorin knew each other, _intimately_ , but for the life of him, Dwalin couldn’t remember ever meeting the dam until after the Battle.  Neither could Balin.

“Stay safe,” Thorin whispered.  He was aware of the gazes of his two closest friends and advisors on him and Donnabelle.

That got a small half-smile from the dam.  _[I’ll try to.  Protect them?]_

He gave her a tiny nod and it was almost missed by the sons of Fundin if they hadn’t known him so well.  Thorin watched as Donnabelle slip away and he turned to Balin and Dwalin.  He frowned at the questioning looks being sent his way by them.

“What?”

Neither brother answered the question while they were still in the public marketplace.  They knew that it would not be the best time to grill Thorin on his unorthodox relationship with what seemed to be the only dam currently living in the Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ukhbab mudtuê = forger of my heart  
> kurdula = my heart of all hearts  
> namadith = little sister  
> Mohilâli harubaz hubma = you’re acting like a horse’s arse.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first caravan from the Blue Mountains arrives in Erebor. With it are four descendants of 'Old Took'

Spring had begun showing itself when Donnabelle found the note the third day after the incident in the marketplace.  It had taken her that long to build up her courage to return to moving around the mountain again instead of hiding out in the library, even after the humans began moving out to live in Dale.  And it was only because Balin had shown up in the Royal Library on the third morning with the news of the ringleaders of the plot against the company had been caught.  Finding out her family was safe forced the hobbit out of her hiding place and back into the wider Erebor community.  She did _not_ want to answer any questions put to her by the advisor, for she feared that he would work out whom she was.  She wasn’t ready to face the rest of the company with the fact that she was their burglar, even if she did not look like it.

She looked down at the note she gripped tightly in her hand and read it through once more.

 

_‘Amrâlimê,_

_‘I am truly sorry for holding back during our sparring matches.  Forgive me for acting like an over-protective man that has lost too much in a lifetime.  First with losing Erebor to Smaug, then with_ _Azanulbizar and losing most of my family there.  We almost lost Dís a number of times and we almost lost Kíli before we even knew of him.  All that is left of my family now is her, the boys and you.  I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, Bunmel.  I hate to think what I was like, those six weeks after…_

_‘I did not mean to imply that I don’t trust you, or that I blame you for what happened.  But I can see how my actions could show you that.  It is hard for me to let anyone in.  Even my own kin.  I want to let you in.  But I’m afraid if I do, you’re going to disappear on me and leave me alone._

_‘I need you to tell me what to do.  Every king needs a voice of reason.  If they don’t, bad things can happen.  I saw that with my grandfather after Grandmother died.  She kept him honest.  Amad was that same voice of reason for Adad.  They trusted each other to keep the other safe.  I want that with you, Amrâlimê.  I really need to see you.  To be able to touch you and to hold you close.  You scared me today when you told us that you remember the men that took you from your homeland.  I need to reassure myself that you’re still with me.  That my heart is still in one piece: because you’re the one that holds it, my burglar.  Don’t you dare tell me to take it back.  It’s too late for that._

_‘You’ve long since proven to me that you are able to protect my heart, me, and any children we have – even when I’m acting like a right stone-head about it.  I do not blame you… though I am struggling with the loss of our mizimith.  Answer me this: why did it have to be you who faced Azog?’_

 

 Her fingers traced over the closing of the letter.  Thorin was struggling, and it seemed like she was the only one who could help him.  She was the only one who could tell him why she’d chosen to go after the Pale Orc.  Even months later, she couldn’t really answer that question except for the fact she wanted to keep her family safe.  She closed her eyes and folded up the note.  Tucking it into her corset (where she kept each and every note from Thorin until she next visited his chambers), Donnabelle shifted in her small cupboard turned sleeping quarters.  No one had yet disturbed her sleep area.  After five and a half months, she doubted anyone would.  If anyone had found her ‘chambers’, the company may have realised it was where their hobbit had made her home before the Battle and had told everyone else to leave it alone as a tribute to the lass they had lost.

Her ears twitched as she made her way out of her hidden quarters.  Something was not right.  She made her way down to the main gates, where the last of the men were leaving the mountain for good.  And the first caravan of returning dwarrow was arriving from Erid Luin.  No one had really expected the dwarrow to arrive so soon.

Or with four hobbits.

Four hobbits Donnabelle knew well.  There were her uncles Hildibrand and Isengar Took, and her cousins Adalger Took and Dondinas Brandybuck.  She flattened herself against the parapet about the gate as they entered with the dwarrow they had travelled with.

 _[Do you truly think something bad has happened to Bilbo?]_ Dondinas asked.  Donnabelle crept closer to the edge to hear the musical language better.  Not one of the hobbits looked up toward her position.

 _[I sincerely hope not,]_ Hildibrand responded.  He was the oldest of the four hobbits that had travelled to Erebor.  _[You don’t remember what it was like when we found out she was stolen the first time.  These dwarves will have a lot to answer for if they have harmed her in any way.]_

  Adalger Took, son of Isembold Took, looked between his uncles and his cousin.  _[What would happen if this Thorin Oakenshield lied about Bilbo being part of his company and just wants information?]_

Isengar scoffed, _[I highly doubt that, Dal.  Not many know of our Bilbo’s abilities.  Maybe this Thorin fellow knew Frérin.]_

The four hobbits looked up at the clearing of a throat.  Before them stood a white-haired old dwarf.  “Welcome to Erebor, good hobbits.  I am Balin.  How may I help you today?”

Hildibrand stepped forward, taking a leadership role amongst the hobbits.  His hair was white, and if anyone asked, he looked a good deal like his father, Gerontius Took.  “Good afternoon, Master Balin.  I’m Hildibrand Took, uncle to the current Thain of the Shire.  This is my brother, Isengar;” a slightly younger hobbit with similar features bowed slightly; “and our two nephews, Adalger Took;” a strawberry-blond hobbit that would be of a similar age to Fíli and Kíli (comparatively) and reminded Balin a lot of Donnabelle; “and Dondinas Brandybuck.”  The final hobbit, if Balin had to guess, would have been a similar age to Donnabelle.  Dondinas was different from the other hobbits with his mop of dark hair and bright blue eyes.  He had a softness about him that reminded the advisor of another hobbit he once knew.  “We are here on business for Fortinbras.  He mentioned Thorin, son of Thráin, wrote to him at the beginning of the year, asking for help with your crops.”

“Oh, yes,” Balin said with a nod.  “We need all the help we can get and we heard a great deal of the blessings the Shirelings have with growing things.”

Isengar stepped forward and beside his brother.  “We are here on a more personal matter as well.”

“Donnabelle.”  It was a statement, nothing more.

“You know her?” Adalger asked.

“Aye, I knew her,” the adviser responded.  His voice was filled with pain and sadness.  “She was a good friend.”

The four hobbits looked at each other.  From Balin’s tone, it sounded like their Donnabelle was dead.  But from Thorin’s letter to Fortinbras in January, it had sounded like the hobbit had been alive then.  Hildibrand’s face darkened and he turned to face Balin.  “When?”

“It’s been five and a half months since the Battle.”

“Straight answer, please,” Dondinas said.  “Is she dead and did you find her body?”

Donnabelle, having moved from the ramparts to trail behind her relatives, stepped forward.  “Perhaps it would be best if this conversation continues in private?” she said and then switched to Iglishmek to add _~I’ll take them to Thorin’s welcome office.  He will want to speak with them.  Tell them my name’s Dina.~_

Balin nodded at the dam and looked back at the four hobbits.  Gem was right of course.  The conversation would be better held in a more private setting.  His brow furrowed as he considered why Gem didn’t want to be introduced as ‘Gem’, yet he knew the name he preferred to call her wasn’t exactly a traditional dwarven name.  So he had no qualms about introducing her by the name she’d used months before.  “This is my apprentice, Dina.  She’ll be with you throughout the negotiations with King Thorin.  He is currently in open court at the moment, so please understand that he will be with you as soon as he can.  Dina, please show these good hobbits to the King’s welcome room.”

Donnabelle gave her ‘mentor’ a small nod and turned to her four kin.  “Before we head to King Thorin’s welcome room, is there anything that you would like us to organise for you from the wagons?”

“Most of our things can be sorted out later,” Isengar said.  “Though there is one trunk we brought with us that must be returned to this king, Thorin.”

“Oh, yes,” Dondinas agreed.  “The trunk Bilbo kept safe and would not let any of us near.”

“And don’t forget the seedlings and fertilizer we brought for the fields,” Adalger added.

Hildibrand rolled his eyes.  “The seedlings and fertilizer can be sorted out later.  We would like to return Belladonna’s glory box to our niece.  Can you please tell us what happened to her?”

“Your niece?” the hobbit disguised as a dwarrowdam asked.

“Yes.  Donnabelle is the daughter of our late sister, Belladonna.”

Donnabelle bowed her head with a sigh before she looked up at the hobbits sadly.  There was no way she could answer the question put to her by her uncle with the full truth without it setting her back who knows how long in her healing.  It did not help that they were still in a public area and she did not know who was listening.  “As Balin said, there was a battle that occurred five and a half months ago.  We lost Donnabelle then.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Adalger growled.

The changeling looked at her cousin with a glare.  She desperately wanted to smack some sense into the younger hobbit.  If he had only paid attention to what she’d said, she _had_ answered the question as truthfully as she could.

In the end, she didn’t have to resort to physical violence with her cousin.  Isengar had taken it upon himself to slap the young lad over the head.  “If you paid attention, Dal, Dina answered the question.  Perhaps there is a reason why these dwarves don’t want to go into details in an open area like this.  It’s been five months since they _lost_ her.”

Donnabelle cleared her throat and the hobbits looked at her.  Hildibrand gave her a brief nod.  She returned it and gave orders (in Khuzdul) to the nearest guard she recognised to take her trunk to Thorin’s office and to hold the rest of the hobbits’ things near the armoury.  She would send somebody to collect them later.  The hobbit turned dwarrowdam looked at her family again and beckoned them to follow her.

They did.  The two cousins looked at each other before turning to their uncles.  _[Do you think she is truly gone, or even amongst these dwarves?]_

 _[No, Bilbo’s not gone,]_ Hildibrand answered.  He looked ‘Dina’ over.  There was something off about the dam with them and he wasn’t sure what it was.  It was then that he truly looked at the bead that held back the bulk of her hair and hid her ears: it was the same bead that Donnabelle had worn when she had first returned to the Shire nearly twenty years before.  He raised an eyebrow at Isengar.  The younger brother had also spotted the bead they knew belonged to Donnabelle.  _[How long have you been compromised?]_

Adalger frowned.  _[What are you talking about?  You know that I’m not.]_

 _[Uncle’s not talking to you,]_ Donnabelle answered softly, causing her two cousins to look sharply at her.  She lowered her gaze and shut the door of Thorin’s welcome room behind Dondinas.  _[Since the battle, Uncle.  You didn’t have to come.]_

Isengar approached his niece and wrapped his arms around her.  _[Yes we did.]_   She let him comfort her briefly before she pulled back. _[How many know?]_

 _[That I’m alive, or that I’m a changeling?]_  A wry smile appeared on the dam’s face.  _[As far as I’m aware, Thorin’s the only one that’s worked out I’m still alive.  But for my abilities… the thirteen dwarrow I travelled with – the ones from my note I left in Bag End – and Gandalf.]_

 _[Do they know of the dwarf you knew?]_ Hildibrand asked.

_[Frérin was Thorin’s younger brother.  That was the reason I decided to come with them on this quest.]_

The two brothers ran their hands over their faces and looked at each other.  They both knew their niece felt like she connected more with the dwarrow than with her own people.  All because of that slave that had decided to protect her the best he could during her most formidable years.  And they did not blame her for wanting to form other bonds with Frérin’s family.

 _[Do they know exactly how you knew Frérin?]_ Isengar questioned.

Donnabelle blushed and nodded.  _[I lost my temper at Thorin after he told me I didn’t belong with the company.  That was even before they knew I was a woman.]_ Adalger and Dondinas glanced at each other before they snorted with laughter.  They both had been on the receiving end of their cousin’s ire.  She turned to glare at them.  _[It wasn’t my finest moment, okay?  Moments before he told me to go home, he’d just risked his life to save mine.]_

Both sobered.  Then Dondinas asked, “Since when can you get away with calling a king by his name?”

“Since he asked me to,” she shot back.  There was a knock at the door and she moved to open it.  On the other side was a dwarf with her mother’s glory box.  Within it, Donnabelle knew she’d find Frérin’s few beads and the last set of armour he wore the day he died.  She also knew the chest contained a few of her precious memories from her time in the Shire with her mother.  The female changeling nodded and the dwarf disappeared back out into the main halls of Erebor.  Kneeling beside the box, she ran her hands over the latch but did not open it.

 _[What happened,]_ Isengar enquired, _[for you to hide?]_

There was a long silence before Donnabelle spoke from her position on the floor.  _[That’s something I haven’t wanted to face yet.  Thorin and I… we’re working through it.  But I’m afraid that he blames me for my choices that day.]_   A sigh escaped her lips and her kin almost didn’t hear her add, _[If I had to do that day all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.]_

_[Why would he blame you?]_

She didn’t answer.  She couldn’t really.  Until she admitted her reasons for facing Azog alone the day of the Battle to Thorin, her voice would remain stubbornly silent about it and she would remain in hiding.

_[Is it because you blame yourself for whatever happened that day?]_

Donnabelle remained silent.  Her hands stilled over the top of the glory box that had once belonged to Belladonna.  But the silence was telling.

Hildibrand sighed and sank to a chair opposite Isengar.  _[Do you remember the last time?  The only thing that helped her then was Belladonna.]_

_[I remember the story Belladonna shared with Bilbo.  Belladonna felt so guilty over what happened with the loss of Hildigard, and she had to learn to forgive herself.  It hadn’t been her fault our sister had died to protect her.]_

_[Don’t forget the guilt Aunt Belladonna carried with her over the loss of Uncle Bungo.  No one could have expected the wolves to come that close to Hobbiton during the Fell Winter.]_

The four hobbits sadly looked at each other before returning their attention to their hidden hobbit.  They all knew something bad had happened during the Battle for her natural defences to kick in a second time in her lifetime.  And if the king was the only one who knew that she was still alive, then the company Donnabelle had travelled with did not know everything there was to know about changelings.  Which raised the question: why was it the king knew of Donnabelle’s survival when the rest of the company did not?

“Did Gem tell you that we lost Donnabelle during the Battle for the Mountain?” a deep voice interrupted their thoughts and the hobbits started.  Their heads swivelled toward the door.  There stood Thorin in his royal blue tunic, light chainmail, and a burgundy outer robe.  At his hip, his left hand rested on the hilt of his duelling sword (a lighter, more practical weapon for close combat within a mountain than his broadsword).  Flanking him were Kíli, Dwalin and Nori.  Without waiting for an answer, the king continued, “She had been pregnant.”  His eyes shifted from the four unknown hobbits to the dam he knew.  And a trunk he recognised from Bag End.  “Gem?”

She looked up briefly.  _[I’m fine.]_

Thorin didn’t look like he believed her.  He would have called her on it if it had not been for the three other dwarrow with him.  They didn’t know he knew the bell-like language.  His eyes narrowed when it seemed as if she was ignoring her.  Donnabelle felt his dark gaze on her and she stood up.  Turning to face him, she returned his glare.  She lowered her gaze as she made her way to his side, then she lifted it up again.  _[Wasn’t ignoring you,]_ she said.  _[Only got it this morning.]_  Thorin’s expression let up a little, but there was still a furrow on his brow.  Only got… oh.  His note.  The one she hadn’t responded to yet.

He folded his arms across his chest and watched her leave the welcome room.  Turning back to the hobbits, he raised an eyebrow.  “Welcome to Erebor.  To whom do we have the pleasure?”

Hildibrand introduced the four hobbits again, and their relationship to Fortinbras.

“And what was your relationship with Donnabelle?” Thorin asked.

“Her mother was our sister,” Isengar responded.  “If you don’t mind _us_ asking, what… was your relationship with her?”

“By dwarrow customs, she was Thorin’s wife,” Dwalin answered the question when Thorin was stubbornly silent about the subject.  There was an undercurrent of disdain in the bald dwarf’s voice as he said that.  Those closest to Thorin, Balin and Dwalin in particular, had seen their king pay a little more attention to a certain dam they knew (thought) was not Donnabelle.  And they made their disapproval clear.  Dwalin did not pick up on what the hobbits had, though.

The four hobbits, especially Hildibrand and Isengar, took in deep breaths.  They knew that the dam who had left was really Donnabelle.  And if Thorin and Donnabelle were married by _his_ customs, that explained the exchange which had happened when the dwarrow first came into the welcome room.  It also explained why Thorin was the only one that seemed to know that she was still alive and appeared to know the spoken language of the hobbits.  Adalger cleared his throat and changed the subject.  Thorin welcomed the distraction, not wanting to discuss Donnabelle while Dwalin, Nori and Kíli were in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amrâlimê = my love  
> Bunmel = beauty of all beauty  
> Amad = Mother  
> Adad = Father   
> Mizimith = little gem


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hildibrand and Isengar take Thorin aside and explain a bit about Changelings.

Adalger and Dondinas found themselves in charge of overseeing the planting of the Spring crops.  They worked closely with the men of Dale so it wasn’t long before they heard the rumours of the journey thirteen dwarrow made with one little hobbit.  The little hobbit who was assumed killed during the Battle of the Five Armies.  Both young hobbits knew that dwarrow did not let in, or trust, outsiders easily and worked out the tales being told were told to help change the opinions.

They smiled at each other.  Why shouldn’t they also add to the tales of their cousin and of the Shire?  After all, if the tales were to help the people of Erebor accept their cousin as queen, then what harm would it do?  So they told the tale of how Donnabelle returned to the Shire with Beorn’s help after the loss of Frérin, the dwarf who gave his life to see her to safety.  They shared the stories of how she managed to get past a life of slavery by working with the rangers of the north.  And how she had been there at the end when their aunt had given up in despair at the loss of her husband, leaving the daughter alone once more in the world.

It had been Donnabelle who had helped strangers that had stopped off in the Shire, especially the dwarrow from the Blue Mountains.  She’d been extremely giving to the people she came in contact with and she tried not to blame anyone for her lot in life.

Isengar and Hildibrand approved of the plan their two nephews had concocted and also joined in with the rumour mill.  They told of how they had lost Donnabelle to the slavers and how they had not been able to get help from outsiders, even from the dwarrow they had first gone to.  The hobbits had been reluctant to ask for help from others after that.  It had all changed after Donnabelle returned.  Despite her past, she still forged allegiances with the rangers and dwarrow that passed through the Shire.  She was never caught unawares again and set up a system for other hobbits to follow so they, too, could remain safe in the Shire with their families.

Three weeks after the four hobbits had arrived at the Mountain, Donnabelle had not been seen again by them.  ‘Gem’ had also disappeared.  The hobbits, particularly Isengar and Hildibrand, realised that she was avoiding them and all that knew her personally.  She had done the same thing the last time she was compromised.

So Hildibrand and Isengar sort out Thorin for a private audience.  It was quickly granted, as Thorin had really wanted to speak to the pair of them about changelings without any of the company listening in.  The night they made their way into Thorin’s private study, the king had told Dwalin to stand guard at the door and not to let anyone in.  Whatever he discussed with the two elderly hobbits would remain private in hopes that Donnabelle would benefit from it.  Shutting the door behind him, Thorin offered the two brothers chairs opposite his at the desk.  Hildibrand and Isengar sat just as Thorin did.

“How much do you know about changelings?” Hildibrand asked.

“Just what Donnabelle has shared with us.  She can change her appearance and voice to mimic any person or race that she likes.  Though she is limited to _actual_ beings that can have a soul, and not things like animals.”

“Essentially, yes.  That is the basics of it,” Isengar agreed.  “Yet there is a lot more to it than that.  Tell us, have you actually seen her recently?  It doesn’t have to be her natural form.  Just _her_.  Better yet, have you properly spoken to her at all since the Battle?”

Thorin swallowed and found his eyes drawn to the second drawer in his desk.  The only real form of communication the pair of them had were the notes they exchanged.  He couldn’t really include the arguments they had in his chambers or the sparring matches they participated in when Dwalin had been there.  Any other times he’d welcomed her into his bed were times when either or both of them were exhausted and had no energy to talk.  The dark-haired king looked up and caught the two hobbits looking at him and he frowned.  He could not recall if he had seen Donnabelle since the hobbits’ arrival.

Which, Thorin suspected the hobbits already knew, meant that Donnabelle was hiding.  She hadn’t really wanted to speak to him about what was troubling her, nor had she wanted to be cornered by her family.

“No,” he answered, “to both questions.  I haven’t really talked to her properly since the Battle, nor have I seen her since your arrival.”

Hildibrand gave a brief nod and looked toward his only younger brother.  Isengar cleared his throat and pursed his lips.  From what they knew of their niece, her actions told them she knew _exactly_ what she needed for her heal and yet did not have the courage to _ask_ for the help she needed.

“Forgive us for asking, but what happened exactly before the… battle?”

Thorin frowned.  He did not particularly like the tone of the question set to him.  The hobbits picked up on his hesitancy to answer the question.

“We mean no offence.  You must understand we are trying to work out what is motivating Bilbo.  And we can only do that if we can hear about the weeks leading up to the battle.  What made her decide to hide?  We’ll only be able to help her heal when we know what it troubling her.  It is no slight against you.”

Thorin breathed deeply to calm his racing nerves.  He wasn’t proud of what happened just before the battle.  But hadn’t Donnabelle already forgiven him for falling to the dragon sickness?

He levelled his gaze at his wife’s two uncles so that they could see his honesty.  Perhaps these two hobbits could show him something he denied in himself?  “Dwarves have a deep love all things precious, whether it is gold, silver or gems.  We are miners and craftsmen.  It is no secret this mountain holds a lot of precious treasures.  Our greed was what first brought the dragon here 172 years ago.  My line, in particular, is more susceptible than most toward gold lust.  We generally use the term ‘dragon sickness’ for this madness.  Sadly, I allowed the temptation of my grandfather’s vast wealth overtake me when we first entered the mountain and Donnabelle paid for that.  She was left alone in these halls for over two full weeks.  I cannot clearly remember those two weeks, but I know she did try to reason with me and the rest of the company on several different occasions.  Yet we did not listen to her.  We were consumed with finding one gem in particular.  A gem, I later worked out, Donnabelle had already found and hidden from us.”  He paused and swallowed hard.  It took him two attempts to add, “We had only left Lake-town ten days before we entered the mountain.  I am sorry to say we sent her into the mountain while the dragon still lived.  And we were in the town of men for two weeks.”

Both hobbits bowed their heads.  They knew the significance of that and of why Thorin thought it important he brought it up.  Donnabelle had been taken by men from Esgaroth; she’d been a slave to another man; and she had almost lost her innocence as a tween by yet other men.  Still, they remained silent and did not judge the dwarven king on his words.  And Thorin, once he began his tale, found that he couldn’t really stop.  He _needed_ to talk to someone about Donnabelle and he couldn’t really go to Dwalin or Balin.  Having these two uncles of his wife (who, if he was not mistaken, were also uncles to the current Thain) listen in hopes to help was therapeutic.

He was sure that if they had asked him to elaborate when they first arrived, he would have remained tight-lipped.

“At the time, we did not know she was pregnant.  It was not my finest moment.  Yet I cannot help but love her for her putting me in my place even after everything I put her through.  The day the men from the lake came to the ruins of Dale was the day that she brought us back to ourselves.  She yelled at us and told me that I valued a cold, dead stone over the life I had given her.  That jarred me back into reality.” A forlorn look passed across Thorin’s face and there was a small, wistful tug upward of his lips.  “I never thought I’d ever have the chance of being a father.  Being an uncle was all I thought I’d be.  But… Donnabelle offered me the greatest gift she ever could: a child.  And I thought we were okay.  She forgave me for what I had put her through.  Just before the battle, though, she had a disagreement with my cousin from the Iron Hills.  Dáin did not approve of our relationship or our child and he did not hide it.”

Hildibrand leaned forward before he looked over at his only younger brother.  There were so many things in Thorin’s story that could have triggered Donnabelle’s self-doubt.  Isengar sent the older Took a questioning glance.  _[There’s only one thing for it.  We’ve got to know if he can understand us, or if it’s just Bilbo he understands.  Or simply a ruse.]_

Thorin cleared his throat.  Both hobbits turned to face him.

 _[Can you understand us?]_ Isengar asked.

“Yes, I can.  She didn’t tell me why.”

Hildibrand and Isengar looked at each other again before they both sighed.  If Thorin could understand Hobbitish, then that made matters simple and more complicated at the same time.

“It is very rare,” began Hildibrand, “that someone outside the Shire can understand the spoken language we use.  We have only ever heard of one other time that this has happened.  What you must understand is that what has happened between you and our niece is not always true of all hobbits, or of all changelings.”

“What has happened between the pair of you is what we call a ‘soul anchor’ and it more commonly occurs with the Tooks that are born with the ‘gift’.  ‘Curse’ as Bilbo calls it.”

“Her name is Donnabelle,” Thorin put in, frowning when he realised the two brothers had called Donnabelle ‘Bilbo’ throughout their conversation.

Isengar snorted and Hildibrand bit back a laugh.  “When you’ve got three sisters named Belladonna, Donnamira, and Mirabella, you’re going to call your niece something different.  She’s Bilbo.”

“It did make it easy for Mother and Father.  Imagine trying to remember all twelve of us.”

Thorin blinked.  _Twelve?_   He could barely imagine _four_ , let alone _twelve_.  Hildibrand turned to face the dwarf and his eyes widened.  “Of course.  Bilbo mentioned that dwarrow rarely have more than two children.  You were one of three, exceptionally rare for a royal family.  I’m number eight, and he’s number twelve.”

The king opened his mouth and closed it again.  That did not compute.  “Twelve?”  The two brothers looked at each other and bit back a laugh.  It appeared that Thorin hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud.

“Yes, twelve.  We were talking about Bilbo.”

Thorin nodded.  “We were.  Please explain to me this ‘soul anchor’ you mentioned.”

 Isengar took over the explanation.  “A ‘soul anchor’ occurs between a hobbit, usually a changeling like Bilbo, and someone they are close to.  We only become aware we have formed this connection with another soul when we have become physically and emotionally unstable.  The known cases of this present themselves after a traumatic event.”

“Something like losing a child in the middle of a battlefield,” Hildibrand added.  “It wouldn’t have helped matters with Bilbo already being emotionally drawn out from the events that had occurred before the battle itself.”

“We do not blame you for that,” Isengar reassured the king when he saw the downcast look Thorin had on his face.  “We do not know what lies the dragon may have whispered to her while she was alone with him.”

“I am sorry I ever let her go alone.”

“Have you ever tried to reason with her?  Once Bilbo’s mind is made up, there is little others can do to change it.  For a ‘soul anchor’ to form, three requirements need to be met.  We have already established that it occurs with a physically and emotionally traumatic event.  Another requirement is that there is a physical bond and an emotional bond of love between the hobbit and their anchor.”

Thorin frowned.  “If that is the case, then why me?  From what I understand, she had many traumatic experiences growing up with Frérin.  I know she was very close to him.”

Hildibrand nodded.  “That is because though she was close to Frérin, they did not have the third requirement to cement the connection.  You and our niece _do._ ”

At the king’s confused expression, Isengar explained, “These bonds only show up between a husband and wife.  For better or for worse, you are married by Hobbit customs as well as your own.  Nothing can separate the two of you, unless you do it to yourselves.”  He took a deep breath in and held it.  Slowly releasing it, the younger brother settled his gaze on the dwarven king.  “We are also able to guess with a degree of certainty why Bilbo has been hiding since our arrival.”

“When a changeling faces one of their worst moments, such as the one she surely did on…”

“Ravenhill,” Thorin supplied.

“Ravenhill,” repeated Hildibrand.  “Changelings have a natural defence that hides them from prying eyes until they are healed, both emotionally and physically.  Bilbo carries a lot of guilt with her.  She admitted as much to us when we arrived, and she’s worried about _your_ reaction.”

“She thinks I blame her for her choices that forced her to take on Azog alone,” Thorin breathed in realisation.  “And that I blame her for the loss of our child.”

Isengar nodded.  “We saw it when she returned with Beorn.  After Frérin died, she blamed herself for months.  It wasn’t until she forgave herself for _surviving_ that she became herself again.”

“What can I do?”

“Talk to her.  Be honest with her.  She needs to hear that it wasn’t her fault.  And that it’s okay for her to forgive herself.  Tell her how you feel.”

The king nodded, taking in the advice the hobbits were giving him.  “I can understand now, why she calls me ukhbab mudtuê.  The forger of her heart.”  He looked up and found both hobbits sharing a knowing smile.

**ACIEACIE**

Thorin made his way through the lower halls to the small, out of the way, passageway that had first brought Donnabelle into Smaug’s lair.  He had a lot to think about since the conversation he had had with his wife’s two uncles seven days before.  Isengar and Hildibrand had both said to be honest with her, yet she still had not been seen.  Other than the nights she had joined him when he had been too tired to even consider holding the conversation they needed to have.

Balin, Fíli and Kíli were attending to the duties Thorin would have performed that day if he had not begged out of them the previous night.  He had pleaded for the day off to mourn for his wife and child.  At least, that is what he _hoped_ the company believed.  What he truly wanted was to find a place where he and Donnabelle could simply talk and be frank with each other.  Not that he really thought she would join him.

When he got to the top of the passageway, he placed his hand over the broken stones that covered the entranceway where Smaug had trapped them within the mountain with no way out.  He bowed his head.

He remembered how Donnabelle had trembled in his arms just before she pulled away to descend into the treasure chamber the first time.  How she had proudly brought back the first piece of treasure from the vast wealth of Thrór.  He remembered how, after she had gone down the second time, he followed her halfway to the bottom.  He could hear the fierce anger of Smaug directed at Donnabelle as he crept closer to the entranceway of the great treasure chamber of his grandfather.  And how his eyes had lit up at mountain of gold that was there.  He’d forgotten how wealthy the mountain had been.

Taking in a shuddering breath, Thorin turned and leaned back against the broken rock.  He remembered the chase Smaug had given them to the western halls, and then how the dragon simply disappeared.  It was not long after that that they felt the mountain shake and they realised the only way in and out they had was the main gate.

He curled up and sank to the smooth floor beneath his feet.  Oh, how he missed the quiet companionship Donnabelle had offered him while on the quest.  She never seemed to be phased by his gruffness, or his attempts to get her to turn back.  He remembered the fire he’d seen burn in her eyes the night they met.  Her quiet recount of Frérin’s death in Beorn’s house.  Her responses to his offer of comfort.  How she felt nestled in his arms the night they accepted their marriage.  The nights they had shared under the stars and in Lake-town.

He remembered her uncertainty when she spoke of her future after the Battle.  Her anger at him when he pushed too far, or when he’d held back thinking he was protecting her.

Mahal, he missed her.

So much.  He took in another shuddering breath.  There was more than his overwhelming feelings of loss.  He felt guilt too.

Guilt that it should have been him, not Frérin, taken that day they fought for Moria.  He should have insisted Dinna stay behind with Dís.  That way, she would still be alive.  It was his fault that they lost Víli even before Kíli was born.  If he had only been quick enough to stop the blow that had almost taken the life of Bifur; the same blow that had left Bifur with an axe embedded in his skull, a short fuse and speaking only in Khuzdul.

If only he insisted Donnabelle stay within the mountain during the Battle.  Or return to the Shire with Óin after they first discovered she was female.  If only he had gotten to Ravenhill sooner.  If only…

A sniffle interrupted his thoughts.  He frowned.  He was sure he was alone in the dark passageway.  The sniffling came once again and the dwarven king sat straighter.  He wasn’t alone.  And for the life of him, he was sure the other person was…

“Donnabelle?” he called quietly.  The sniffling stopped and he heard a hitch in the other person’s intake.  It was the first time he’d called her by name since he first discovered she was still alive.

“Yes,” her voice carried back to him just as quietly.

He tried peering through the darkness and could barely make out her outline about halfway down the passageway.  “It’s not your fault.  If… if it had been my choice that day, I would gladly have given up my life if it meant you lived.”

She sniffed again and Thorin could see her moving toward him.  She didn’t say anything to his admittance, so he continued on.  “On Ravenhill, when you faced Azog, you did not want to watch him take me from you.  You could not sit back and watch us, our family, suffer and die.  So you took the only option that had the best chance of success: the choice that ultimately led to our survival.  I guess you learnt that from Frérin.  He would have done the same thing.  He was reckless when I knew him, but that did not stop him from doing what was _right_.  I could never blame you for doing what was _right_.”

“But it was my fault I lost the baby,” came her quiet, shaky confession.  It sounded like she was holding back her tears.  “If only I stayed…”

“Then we would all be dead,” Thorin interrupted confidently.  “If it hadn’t been you who faced Azog that day, it would have been me.  And most assuredly, I was _not_ wearing a mithril coat that day.  The Defiler would not have stopped at your death, or mine, that day.  If you had not stopped him, he would have wiped us all out.”  He stopped and looked down at the floor.  “It wasn’t your fault, amrâlimê.  You hold none of the blame for what happened.  If you want someone to blame, blame me.”

“No,” she fervently responded.  “It was not your fault.”

He snorted sourly.  “It sure feels like it.  If I’d chosen to send you back, then none of this would have happened.  You’d still be safe in the Shire.”

“Safe, maybe.  But not happy.  I knew the moment I met you I couldn’t stay there.  Not in the Shire.  I felt lost without Frérin.  You, Fíli and Kíli helped fill the void he left.  And you helped me through the last of the guilt I felt over losing him.  I never felt safe again until I was in your arms.”

Thorin shook his head.  “All I have done is lead you into danger time and time again.  I did not, and do not, want your death on my hands.”

“Isn’t that my choice, kurdula?  You gave me a sense of purpose again.  Please don’t take that from me.  I couldn’t bare it.”

“Then please promise me you will stop blaming yourself for our mizimith’s loss.  If you want someone to blame, blame Azog, for I know he _would_ have killed you both if you did not fight and stop him.”

Donnabelle sniffed and Thorin was surprised when it seemed to have come directly from beside him.  He looked to his left and felt her shift closer to his side.  “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” he responded and wrapped his arm around her.  “You chose to face that monster that destroyed most of my family and had sworn to wipe out the last of my line.  That now includes _you_ , Donnabelle.  I cannot live without my heart.  You are more precious to me than all the treasure in Erebor.  I do not know what I would do if I lost you.”

She nodded against his shoulder and they sat in silence for many long minutes before she felt confident enough to crawl into his lap.  He wrapped his arms around her as she cried for their lost gem.  Planting a kiss on her forehead, he felt a few tears slip from his eyes and pulled her closer to him.

Leaning his cheek on her head, he whispered, “For what its worth, my burglar, men forgifan thu, ealnig ge āwa.”

She sobbed harder.  She had waited twenty years for someone, a _dwarf_ , to tell her that she could be forgiven.  That they forgave her for the loss of Frérin.  Thorin moved his lips to the tip of her ear and he began to sing.

 

_I’ll wait forever_

_For the chance to hold you close_

_I’ll wait_

_So you know you’re not alone_

_Can’t you see my love,_

_How much you mean to me?_

_Every beat of my heart_

_Is a beat in time with yours_

_Every fleeting touch_

_Speaks from your heart to mine_

_Can’t you see my love,_

_You are my everything?_

_And I’ll wait forever_

_So you know you’re not alone_

_I’ll wait_

_Oh, my heart, I’ll wait_

 

Thorin’s voice broke at the end.  He buried his face into her hair and felt her tangle her hand into his hair.

“Forever?” she sniffed.

“Forever,” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ukhbab mudtuê = forger of my heart  
> Amrâlimê = my love  
> Kurdula = my heart of all hearts  
> Mizimith = little gem  
> men forgifan thu, ealnig ge āwa = I forgive you, always and forever


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hobbits leave Erebor and Dwalin gets mad at Balin and "Gem"

The hobbits left Erebor a few days after Thorin and Donnabelle had forgiven each other and had absolved the other of any lingering guilt.  Hildibrand and Isengar had both extracted promises from Thorin that he would keep their niece safe.  They had been reluctant to leave before she had returned to her natural form, but all four hobbits knew it was better to travel during the summer months than to try braving another harsh winter on the road.  Donnabelle, surprisingly, had chosen to travel with them until their first night on the road south of Dale.

“Thank you for coming,” she told them softly as she settled beside Isengar.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a smile.

“We wouldn’t have missed it for anything, Bobo.”

“Oh, please!” she groaned in protest.  “Anything but that name!  I’m not four anymore, Uncle Isengar.”

His grin widened as her two cousins looked in their direction.

“Bobo?”

“I couldn’t say ‘Bilbo’ when I was little.  It came out as ‘Bobo’.”  Donnabelle sighed.  “You all know I prefer Donnabelle, but if you can’t bring yourselves to call me that, it’s Bilbo.”  Adalger covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing.  But it escaped anyway.  He stopped when she turned her glare on him and threatened, “You do not want me to come over there and kick you.”

“At least we know we haven’t lost our feisty little one,” Hildibrand told Isengar.

Donnabelle laughed at that.  “I think that’s what got Dwalin to like me in the first place.”

“Oh, do tell,” Dondinas said, leaning closer to the hobbit curled up in their uncle’s arms.

“The night that I met the dwarrow in Bag End, Dwalin was the first to show up.  It was a good thing that I’d grown up with stories of him, Balin and Thorin in particular, else I would have stood there at my door all flustered and wondering what was happening.  I think that’s what he was expecting.  But I took one look at him and welcomed him into Bag End without much fanfare.  Then Balin showed up.  They both were surprised that I was happy to shrug off two ‘strange’ dwarrow turning up, expecting to be fed.  What got me were the two dwarves that came in next: Fíli and Kíli.  Even if I hadn’t heard of them, I would have known exactly who they were to Frérin.  Fíli looks a lot like the brother I grew up with.  And there were Balin and Dwalin, staring at me as if they were unsure of how to respond to my warm hearth and feast I had provided.

“It wasn’t until Thorin had arrived that I had had enough of all their insults: several times they called me a halfling and Thorin even insisted that I was a _grocer_.”

Adalger and Isengar both laughed aloud at that.  All four male hobbits knew that Donnabelle was _not_ a grocer and had worked extremely hard to build up her weapon skills so that she would never be without a way to defend herself again.

“As you can imagine, I was not happy with that assessment.  So I told the majestic sod what I thought.  Then told Gandalf off for assuming I would be happy having fourteen men descend on my home and accept their insults without a by your leave.  I’m sure Dwalin was hiding a smirk when I did that.”

Both of her cousins were struggling to hold onto their laughter at her tale.

“You told Gandalf off?” Hildibrand asked.  He raised an eyebrow at Isengar and tried to keep a straight face.  Neither brother could as they were reminded of how much like her mother and grandmother Donnabelle was.

“What do you expect?  I am a Took after all.”

“Indeed, you are, Bilbo,” Isengar agreed.  There was a companionable silence for a while before he commented, “Your dwarf, he really loves you.”

 Donnabelle felt heat rise in her cheeks.  “He does.  I think that was why I couldn’t stand by during the Battle.  I did not want to see another dwarf I love die right in front of me.  Azog, the commander of the orc armies, had set up an outpost and was giving orders to his troops from a distance.  I wasn’t in the battle at the time and I could see that my dwarves, the family of my heart, were surrounded and if I did not do anything, I would be forced to watch them die.  So I went to face Azog.  I fought and killed him.  But…” she trailed and could not bring herself to look up at her kin.

“That was when you lost…” Dondinas began and left his sentence hanging.

She nodded.

“And when your defences kicked in,” Hildibrand concluded.  Another nod.

The silence after that was thick.  No one was quite sure how to proceed until Adalger spoke up.  “Could you tell us how you knew it was Thorin you were meant to be with?”

Donnabelle looked up and gave her cousin a small smile.  She began her tale from the morning the dwarrow left her alone in her smial to the night Thorin had taken her aside to celebrate their gem.  She added to the tale the events since the battle and how he helped her heal and how she worked out he was her anchor.

The five hobbits barely got any sleep that night, but they all thought that it was worth it for the chance to talk and really see how their precious Donnabelle was doing.  And none of the journeying hobbits could find fault with her for making her home amongst the dwarrow of Erebor.  They knew that the family she’d chosen in her heart would look after her and protect her more than a solitary life in the Shire would ever do.  For they knew there was no chance she would find and have a family of her own if she ever returned to Hobbiton or to Bag End.

And if she could find happiness in a mountain with a dwarven king, who were they to complain?

**ACIEACIE**

Balin looked his brother over as the burly dwarf pulled him aside the day the hobbits left.  Dwalin looked irritated about something and the older brother wondered what could have gotten to the warrior.

“What do you know of Gem?” the younger brother growled.  “And of the rumours being spread of our namadith?”

The white haired advisor frowned.  “One question at a time, brother.  Tell me, are the rumours harming anyone?”

“No.”

“Are they based on untruths?”

“No.”

“Then leave the rumours be.  Gem is a little more difficult to deal with.”  Balin looked his brother over again.  The taller dwarf stood there with his arms folded across his chest and had an expression on his face that Balin knew well: ‘start talking or you are in for a world of hurt.’  He sighed.  “Dwalin, I know she’s been very helpful in the library and has given Ori someone to talk to.  There have been translations she’s done that are worth a lot to us and not just in monetary value.  As for the rest of the mountain, I don’t know how she managed to integrate herself into every aspect of the mountain life.  I’ve even seen her helping out in the kitchen with Bombur.”

The bald dwarf took his brother’s words into consideration.  Everything the older dwarf had said were things that he already knew.  He’d gone so far as to ask _Nori_ to check the dam out after the second sparring match between her and Thorin.  But what he wanted to know was where she had come from and what her intentions were towards his king.

Balin seemed to see the question filtering across his younger brother’s face.  “If you want to know where she came from, Dwalin, why don’t you ask her?”

“Because she has swayed our king’s mind away from Donnabelle.”

The old dwarf sighed and sank to the bench near the door to his chambers.  Dwalin sat down beside him.  “Do you expect Thorin to grieve for Donnabelle and their child forever?”

“It’s been nearly seven months, Balin.  And he has been flirting with _her_ ever since their first sparring match,” Dwalin growled.  “I have not said anything except to you now.  You know I can’t sit idly by while Thorin disgraces our sister’s name.”

“What do you expect Thorin to do, Dwalin?”

“Stop flirting.”

“Are you sure he _has_ been flirting with Gem or is he just seeking her companionship?  From what I saw, she reminds me a lot of Frérin, and Thorin would have seen that.  We both know our king.  He doesn’t flirt.  He never did.”  Balin paused and then posed the question: “Can you name one time during our journey here that Thorin flirted with Donnabelle?”

The warrior let his arms fall to his sides and he sighed.  He could not recall one time that Thorin flirted with their burglar.  “You think we shouldn’t be concerned with whatever’s happening between Gem and Thorin?”

“No, because we saw what he was like when we bid farewell to Donnabelle.  He was broken.  And if Gem can help bring him out of that, then shouldn’t that be a good thing?  We all saw how much he loved Donnabelle.  There will be no one else for him but her.”

Both brothers turned to look at the other.  Balin nodded first.  He knew that Dwalin was trying to keep their Donnabelle’s name above reproach and that the dwarf truly cared for the tiny hobbit as if she were truly his sister.  Dwalin returned the nod, knowing that Balin had been right.  There would be no one else for Thorin but Donnabelle.  Yet he was afraid that Gem, tough scholarly Gem, was setting herself up for a whole lot of heartache if she kept pursuing Thorin romantically.

**ACIEACIE**

Nearly a full ten days later, Dwalin walked out of Thorin’s office.  He was shell-shocked at the fact _Donnabelle_ had been alive all this time without even informing any of them she had _survived_.  How, in Durin’s name, had she survived?

Every dwarf that came across the bald warrior’s path quickly learnt to get out of his way as he made his way through the hallways from the royal wing to the battlements.  No one dared approach him.  Until one dwarf came over to Dwalin with a weapon held out for him to take.

“You look like you need to trounce something.”  Dwalin looked down at the small woman that had joined him.  Gem raised an eyebrow up at him.  And it was only then that he caught sight of her ears she usually kept hidden beneath her thick locks.  “Thorin mentioned you worked it out.”

“You’re alive?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

She shook her head slightly and looked out over the plains that lay between Erebor and Dale.  “Surely you would have guessed how after I left the office this morning.”

“The mithril.  Why hide from us?”

Donnabelle swallowed and turned her attention to the warrior.  “Nadad, I did not mean to hide.  Or hurt any of you.  But… I was hurt badly by all of you before the battle.  And I did not trust any of you enough to be safe as _myself_ in the mountain after… after what Dáin called me.”

Dwalin closed his eyes.  He remembered clearly what Dáin had said before and after the battle.  Not one of the company had been impressed by him and his crude remarks about Donnabelle.  Reaching for the blade that Donnabelle still held out to him, Dwalin wrapped his hand around the hilt.  He could understand her reluctance to trust the company after what had happened with the Arkenstone.  They _had_ hurt her, after everything else she had to deal with in her short life.  But it still hurt to know that she had hidden from them for seven months.

“Why can’t I see you as you truly are?”

“Because I haven’t quite forgiven _myself_ yet.  Thorin’s been helping me with that.  He’s the only one that could help me with my guilt.”  She gave him an awkward grimace.  “And I haven’t been able to be myself since the battle.”

“When will you tell the others?”

“Hopefully at the next dinner.  Now, I’m itching for a good sparring match.  The last one I had left much to be desired.”  Dwalin grinned.  And then experimentally swung the blade in his had around.  Donnabelle returned the smile and drew her own weapon.

**ACIEACIE**

Thorin woke slowly to the sounds of someone moving around his bedchamber.  He blearily opened his eyes and peered around.  It was still dark and he couldn’t see anyone.  His eyes fluttered closed as a soft feather kiss landed on his brow.  He felt a small tug at the corners of his lips as they curled upward.  Breathing in deeply, there was only one person it could be in his bed chamber with him.

“Go back to sleep, kurdula.  It’s still early,” her voice drifted over his muddled mind softly.

“Will you still be here when I start the day?” he asked just as softly.  His voice was rough with sleep.  He did not want to open his eyes in case this was all a dream.  That did not stop him from being acutely aware of the figure leaning over his prone position.

“I’m sorry.  I promised Balin I would speak to him early today.  I will be there tonight, though.”

Thorin almost opened his eyes at that.  Was she telling him that she was ready to return to the company?  “Promise?”  His voice came out shaky.

“Promise,” she returned.  He felt her press her lips against his unresisting ones.  She pulled away and he felt her fingers ghost over his forehead and closed eyelids.  “You will see me today.”  He reached up and caught hold of her wrist before she could pull it away from his face.  Pulling it close to his lips, he placed a kiss on her palm.  She sighed sweetly before she pulled her hand from his grasp.  “I’ve got to go.  I love you.”

“And I, you, amrâlimê,” he replied.

Then she was gone and Thorin settled back into sleep.  He barely remembered the conversation when he was fully awake later, but somehow it stayed with him throughout the day.  At one point, he was especially distracted and did not focus on what was going on around him until someone snapped their fingers in front of him.  He blinked and looked up at Fíli and Kíli.

“What’s gotten into you today, Uncle?” Kíli asked.

“It’s nothing,” Thorin responded, shaking off his lack of attention and returning it to the task at hand.

“It’s not nothing,” Fíli refuted.  “Does your lack of attention have anything to do with the woman that joined you in bed last night?”  When Thorin looked at his eldest nephew with a frown, both he and his younger brother rolled their eyes.  “It’s not like we hadn’t noticed you’ve had company some nights, Idad.  Who is she?”

“And why do you let her in your bed?” Kíli asked.  Both brothers sounded upset that their uncle was already moving on from their hobbit.

Thorin ran his hand over his face.  “Her name is Bo,” he answered.  “She comes to me for comfort.  Nothing more.”

“Why you, though?  She’s not Donnabelle.  Or Amad.”

Thorin set his jaw and did not answer.  It was not as if he could say ‘ _Bo_ ’ was a name Donnabelle answered to as a child.  Oh, how he missed her. 

“Uncle?”

He looked up.  “I am not out to replace _her._   It’s been seven months.  And…”  He stopped and bowed his head.  Fíli and Kíli saw that he was barely holding it together.  “Bo helps me keep sane some days when it’s too hard to forget.”

The two brothers looked at each other and it was only then that they stopped to consider what their uncle was going through.  They hadn’t considered how Thorin was dealing with Donnabelle’s death.  Nor had they seen their uncle close to his breaking point.  So it wasn’t that big of a leap for them to consider that ‘Bo’ would be someone that their uncle had let close when no one else had looked out for Thorin’s emotional wellbeing.  It was just a surprise to his nephews that he let someone close enough to share his bed, even for platonic reasons.

Thorin looked his two nephews over once more.  He was looking forward to that night and the company meal, for he was sure that Donnabelle would keep the promise she’d made to him that morning.

**ACIEACIE**

The company were still in shock that Donnabelle was with them and seated next to their king that night.  None more so than Fíli and Kíli.  They ate their meal in silence, occasionally taking a glance up at the head of the table where Thorin and Donnabelle were sitting together and talking quietly to each other.  Ori, sitting on the other side of the table from the two princes, gave them a shaky smile and turned to Balin.  Most of the company had finished their meals by then.

“He’s not going to let her go, is he?”

“No,” the elderly advisor returned.

“Did you know?”

“I guessed.  After the four hobbits arrived, I thought maybe they had come to see if Donnabelle was truly gone or not.  Not once while they were here did they act as I would expect if she had died.  That gave me proof that somehow she had survived and was still alive.  And I remembered the language Gem spoke and it sounded much the same as what the hobbits spoke when they spoke to one another.”  Balin stopped.  Donnabelle had hidden as _Gem?_

Ori frowned.  “Gem?” he asked just as the room became quiet.

Donnabelle looked up from her place at Thorin’s side.  “Yes?” she responded.  The company froze, looking either at Ori or at Donnabelle.  Each and every one of them remembered the dwarrowdam that had been so helpful around the mountain.

“ _You’re_ Gem?”

She nodded.  “I am, Glóin.  It’s something you called me that reminded me of Frérin.  He called me that.  And did you really expect me to wander around Erebor as a dwarf using a hobbit name?”

Balin closed his eyes with a sigh.  He remembered the incident in the marketplace where Gem – _Donnabelle_ – had spoken of her past and of her capture by slavers.  She had mentioned that she, and her _brother_ , had been captured by the ‘Hounds of Esgaroth’.  “Frérin was taken by the same group of slavers that took you?” he inquired.

“He was taken by the original members; the ones that blamed the line of Durin for the destruction of their homes,” she answered.  “I was taken by their descendants.”

Thorin growled low in his throat, as did Dwalin.  Donnabelle squeezed her husband’s thigh.  He turned to her and cupped her cheek.  His lips traced over her forehead.  She raised her left hand up and took a hold of his marriage braid.  “You’ve dealt with them, ukhbab mudtuê.”  Allowing her forehead to remain connected to his lips, she looked back at the company.  “Can… could we go now?”

“Of course, Bo,” Thorin whispered.  The pair of them were emotionally wrung and the company did not blame either of them for wanting to leave.

“Bo?” Fíli and Kíli said.

“I couldn’t say ‘Bilbo’ when I was a child,” Donnabelle explained.  “It came out as ‘Bo’.”

Before the two princes could enquire further, Thorin pushed out his chair and stood.  Donnabelle never left his arms.  “If you will excuse us.  We will see you all tomorrow morning.”

The company watched as Thorin led his wife from the room and then looked at each other.  “She’s really alive?  We won’t wake up tomorrow to find this was just a dream?”

“She was here and she really is alive,” Dwalin answered.  When the majority of the company looked in his direction, he shrugged.  “I spoke to her the other day; told her about the dinner tonight.  And if I have a choice, I’ll be coming here for breakfast tomorrow morning, just to make sure she’s still here.”

Fíli and Kili looked at each other.  Both nodded.  They, too, would be joining Dwalin in the morning.  The rest of the company thought the plan was a good one and they made plans to return to the company’s common room for breakfast even though they had their own small dining areas in their own quarters.  Nothing was going to stop them from reassuring themselves that their burglar was back with them and alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> namadith = little sister  
> nadad = brother  
> Kurdula = My heart of all hearts  
> Amrâlimê = My love  
> Idad= Uncle  
> Amad = Mother  
> ukhbab mudtuê = forger of my heart


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mountain meets Donnabelle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ****** Song used in this chapter is from the soundtrack of TFotR, entitled In Dreams. Thanks Calenthion for this suggestion!  
> There could be a trigger warning for some people later in this chapter when Donnabelle speaks up about her slave life and what was required of her after she hit a certain age. If you are under the age of 14, get your parents to read this chapter first before you read it yourself.

True to their word, Donnabelle and Thorin joined the company for breakfast the following morning.  Neither of them strayed far from the other all throughout the meal.  Not that the company blamed them for not letting the other out of their reach.  Bombur and Glóin would be the same once their families arrived from the Blue Mountains.

And though the small hobbit wasn’t ready to venture out of the royal wing without her dwarrowdam disguise, the company knew they would see her as herself each morning at the breakfast table.  She became a voice of reason for all of them, whether she was in her dwarven disguise or in her natural form.  Her day to day schedule did not change much from the time before the company found that she was still alive: her mornings were still spent in the library with Ori, and occasionally Balin, and her afternoons were spent learning of her role as the King’s Consort while filtering around the mountain with the rest of the company.  Each and every one of the twelve dwarrow appreciated the effort she put into learning about the dwarrow culture of Erebor and supporting Thorin in his role as King.  They valued whatever time they got with their burglar throughout the day, as they knew her evenings were spent with Thorin.

It took the small hobbit five months to gain enough courage to venture out of the royal wing as herself.  She had asked if she could plan the first anniversary of the Battle to honour those that had fallen in the defence of Erebor and Dale.  Thorin had given his consent and had Kíli help with the preparations.  The hobbit and dwarf spoke with both the elves and the men about what would be fitting for all races.

The men, especially Bain and Sigrid on orders from their father, found it beneficial to work with two members of the house of Durin to plan a memorial for the people who lost their lives on the lake and in the battle itself.  It took them a month of preparations to get everything set, and still there was one thing that Donnabelle knew needed to happen: attitudes within the mountain had changed enough for her to feel safe enough to show them all she had survived the Battle.  So a few days before the memorial, she approached Thorin and explained to him what she wanted to do.  He had been a little sceptical, yet allowed her to plan her reappearance as tactfully as possible.

On the day of the memorial, Donnabelle stood behind the company as planned.  Thorin and Kíli lead the proceedings well, as did Bard and Bain.  Just as the men of Dale were about to depart, Sigrid held up her hand and told them quietly to wait.  Her voice carried to the King under the Mountain.  He gave her a brief nod and raised a hand.  He stood silent and stoic.  The company followed him, as did the royals of Dale.

Then, a small figure stepped out to stand at Thorin’s left, where his queen would stand.  Donnabelle closed her eyes, thinking of Óin and the child she had lost.  Her clear voice rose in the silence, spellbinding everyone within hearing distance of her song.  ******

 

_When the cold of Winter comes_

_Starless night will cover day_

_In the veiling of the sun_

_We will walk in bitter rain_

_But in dreams_

_I can hear your name_

_And in dreams_

_We will meet again_

_When the seas and mountains fall_

_And we come to end of days_

_In the dark, I hear a call_

_Calling me there_

_And back again_

 

The dwarrow who had dined in her smial over seventeen months before joined in with the song quietly, allowing Donnabelle to carry the tune.  Thorin glanced down at her and gave her a slight nod of approval.  He extended his left arm to her and she hooked her right arm through it.  The king turned back to his people and the people of Dale.

“May we never forget the lives lost to bring peace in these lands and honour those that bravely fought, and died, with words and songs.”

Bard raised his hand in salute.  “We will never forget.”

With that exchange, the formal part of the memorial was over.  Thorin led his wife down from the throne to the main floor where the people were.  There were many whispers as they  The dwarven king desperately wanted to lean over and pull Donnabelle tight against his chest.  And yet he knew he couldn’t until they were in the privacy of the Royal Wing.  It was not proper for him to show his feelings for his wife so openly so he contented himself with the feel of her arm laid on his and her body walking a little closer to his than what was required.

The couple stopped as Bard approached with his children and Gandalf. 

“It is good to see you alive, Mellon nin,” Gandalf greeted after all the necessary greetings had been done.

Donnabelle looked up at the Istari and gave him a shy smile.  “I never realised how good it felt to be seen, Mithrandir.”

“How did you survive?”

The hobbit turned to the human king.  “I was injured during the battle, but nothing overly serious.  During the chaos of the clean-up, I managed to find my way into the mountain without anybody being the wiser.  I remained hidden ever since because of the danger I was in from dwarrow, men and elves.  Lord Dáin did not approve of me and I was furious at King Thranduil.  And you already know why I dislike men.”

“The mountain is fortunate to have you alive,” Bard added with a nod of acceptance.  He did know the history (or at least part of it) that Donnabelle had with the race of men.  “Especially if the rumours are true.”

“Thank you.  Most are.  May our peoples prosper and never forget what brought us together under one banner.”

After the anniversary memorial, Donnabelle became more confident in moving around the mountain in her natural form.  Each and every member of the company was happy that she was healing from their journey to reclaim Erebor and from what had happened on Ravenhill.  They were all happy to help her learn her duties as the King’s Consort.

The rumours Donnabelle had begun so many months before had helped shape the minds of those living under Thorin’s rule and the dwarrow knew that their king had chosen the best.  There was no denying her love of the people and of the mountain.  In return, they began to love her and her devotion to the mountain and seeing it returned to its former glory.

Thorin, especially, found it a balm on his soul that his wife was back with him.  She offered him sound advice based on information she had gained from the dwarrowdams that had returned to the mountain and had accepted her as one of their own.

**ACIEACIE**

Donnabelle quietly placed her current project, an intricate embroidery wall hanging depicting the journey she and Thorin had already taken in their romance, and looked to where Thorin was stoking the fire.  It was six weeks after the memorial service and a year since she had first approached him for comfort after the battle.

Thorin stopped what he was doing and turned to face his wife.  He gave her a smile before it turned into a frown.  Her lips twitched slightly and her gaze turned downward to the square she was currently working on.  He stood up and moved to her side on the settee.

“What is it, ayâdê?”

She sighed and when he reached for her, she pulled away.  “Sorry,” she apologised.  “I was thinking of my parents and of our current situation.  You know my parents could only ever have me.”

The dwarf frowned and moved to Donnabelle’s side.  “What do you mean?”

“They tried having other children.  Before and after they had me.  Hobbits often have big families.”

He smiled at that.  “Yes, I am aware that your mother was one of twelve children your grandparents had.”

“My father was one of five.  It was very uncommon for a family in the Shire to have less than three children.  Most have between five and eight children.”  She brought her gaze up and connected with his concerned look.  “I guess I’m afraid I’m going to be like my mother and only ever have one child.  You asked me what it was like growing up with Frérin.  And I was happy sharing the stories from my childhood, and some of the things from when I was a teen.”

And it sounded like my brother did right by you.”

“Did he?”

“You were both slaves, amrâlimê.  He tried to protect you as best he could.  I could not fault him for staying when he had the chance to buy his freedom.”  He paused and took in his wife’s shifting form.  “Did something happen while you were slaves?”

“The main reason I was taken as a child.  Why he stayed even when he couldn’t bear to see someone rob me of my innocence.”

Thorin ran his hand over his face.  “You were taken to be a slave bearer?”

She nodded slowly.  Worrying her lower lip, she couldn’t bring herself to face him.  “Nadad tried his best to earn enough coin to buy my freedom before it came to that, yet by the time my first cycle came when I was fourteen, he did not have enough.  He had just enough for himself but not enough for me.  The master saw to it that whatever choice Frérin made, I would remain for however long it took for me to bear children.”

“Frérin did not leave you in that situation.  He would not have let anyone touch you.”

“He had no choice Thorin.  It was either he buy his own freedom and leave me there or he stayed and watched them break me.”  She turned to face her dwarf, only to see the hard set of his jaw.  “He didn’t have to stay when I was five and he wasn’t about to leave when I was fourteen.  Frérin offered me the only choice we had.  He took no pleasure in the act, but he was the only one that I trusted enough not to…”

Thorin could not look at her.  His brother had robbed Donnabelle of her innocence.  Frérin… would not have had a choice if he had wanted to protect her as best he could when she was at a stage she would not have known what was happening.  The king stood and pushed himself away from the settee and began pacing the floor in front of the fire.  Donnabelle watched him pace out his anger and thought it best if she didn’t try stopping him.  She lowered her gaze back down at the craft in her lap.

“I never told you why I came to you that night, a year ago.”  Thorin stopped his pacing and looked back at his wife.  “I almost lost my life twenty-seven years ago.  And the life of the son I gave Frérin.  The master never made me carry again.  Frérin made sure of that.  If Frérin hadn’t done what he did and forced the master to listen, the master would have forced someone else to take me.  I nearly lost my life when Thérin came early and the master realised he could have lost two valuable slaves that day.”

“Thérin?” Thorin breathed.

Donnabelle nodded.  “I wish you could have met him.”

“You almost lost your life the day he was born?”

“That was the deal breaker for Frérin.  He used my age and what almost happened to persuade the master to wait until I was much older before he forced me to bear again.  No one touched me again while we were still slaves.  Well, not until the day we left.”

Thorin balled up his fist.  “What happened to Thérin?”

“He did not live past his third birthday.”  The dwarven king nodded slowly.  Donnabelle stood and made her way to his side.  “Please say something, gayadê.”

“I need to think.”  He moved away from her and out of their chambers.  The hobbit took in a shallow breath and did not feel the tears slip from her eyes.

Balin and Dwalin had been on their way back to their own chambers when Thorin stalked out of the chamber he shared with Donnabelle.  The dark-haired king barely noticed his two closest friends as he stalked past them.  Balin frowned and looked into the chamber Thorin had just left, only to see Donnabelle crumple in grief.  His eyes hardened and he turned to his brother.  Dwalin also saw their sister’s grief and he gave the advisor a nod.

The brothers split up: Dwalin went after Thorin and Balin moved into the chambers where Donnabelle was.

“Namadith?” Balin called.

The hobbit looked up with a sniff.  “Nadad.”

Moving into the chamber, Balin moved to his sister’s side.  He was careful not to startle her when he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She turned and buried her face in his shoulder.  He wrapped his arms around her and began stroking her back.  “What happened, namadith?”

“He knows about Thérin.”

“And who is Thérin?”

“He was the son of Frérin.”

“When you were a slave?”

There was a nod against his shoulder and Balin felt the hobbit sink further into his embrace.  It wasn’t long before she became limp against him and when he looked down, he wasn’t surprised that she had tired herself out with her tears.

**ACIEACIE**

Dwalin followed after Thorin to the training halls, despite the late hour.  There were a few dwarrow still up and wandering around, yet they knew better than to get in their king’s way.  Or in the way of the king’s royal friend and guard.  Dwalin drew Grasper and Keeper just as Thorin spun around and began fighting with a furiousness the bald warrior had not seen since the king’s first spar against Donnabelle.

Thorin did not let up on his attacks for a good hour and a half before he stopped.  Pulling away from his friend and shield brother, the king sank to the floor.

“I want him dead, Dwalin.”

“Who?”

Thorin looked up at the warrior.  “The filth that robbed my _wife_ of her innocence and forced _Frérin_ into a situation he should never have been in.”

Dwalin frowned.  “What do you mean?”

The king’s gaze darkened.  “Use your imagination, Dwalin!  Why do you think she was a slave?”

“They wouldn’t dare!” the bald warrior growled.  When his sword-brother set his jaw, Dwalin wanted to destroy any and all peoples that forced his sister (and prince) into slavery and made her grow up too fast.

“They _dared_ , brother,” Balin put in.  The advisor turned to his king.  “She cried herself to sleep, Thorin.  But she needs you.”

Thorin ran his hands over his face before pushing himself to his feet.  “Find out anything and everything about that piece of filth.  He will learn not to _mess_ with the line of Durin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Mellon nin = my friend (Sindarin)  
> Ayâdê =my happiness  
> Amrâlimê =my love  
> Gayadê =my joy  
> Namadith = sister  
> Nadad = brother


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori leaves to head south, and Dis meets Donnabelle's family

“We cannot send anyone from the company,” Balin told Thorin, “as much as each and every one of us would like to find the uslâr.”

Thorin looked up from his desk at each of the company gathered in his office.  He had shared with them the details of Donnabelle and Frérin’s slave life and what had been ‘required’ of them after she had shown signs of becoming an adult.  Not one of the company were happy about what had been done to their hobbit.  “Explain.”

“If we send anyone from the company, Donnabelle will get suspicious.  She is rather attached to us.”

“She won’t if it’s a diplomatic mission to Gondor,” Fíli suggested.

“Oh.  And _that_ would give it away.”

Thorin set his jaw and leaned back against his chair.  “If any of the company does go, I will have to stay, as would Fíli and Kíli.”  His two nephews sat up in protest but the king cut them off.  “Fíli cannot go because of his resemblance to Frérin.  And Kíli, if I let you go, your mother would never forgive me.”

“I’ll go,” Nori interrupted.  He was leaning against Thorin’s office door with his arms folded across his chest.  The company all turned to face the thief and spymaster.  “At least one of us should go and I’ll be the one that Donnabelle won’t miss as much.  Anyway, does anyone of you know the slaver’s name?”  He raised an eyebrow and looked each of the company in the eye.  When he received a negative in response, the dwarf smiled.  “I do.  His name is Kaupi.  I’ll find him and bring him back to face dwarven justice.”

 Thorin looked the thief over and gave a brief nod.  The king trusted the sly spymaster to succeed in the mission to bring their hobbit’s slave owner to them.  Before Nori could slip away to gather the few dwarrow that would journey with him to the south, their leader cleared his throat.  “No one is to tell Donnabelle of this mission until after Nori and his team are safely back in the Mountain with the filth so the slaver can face justice.”

Each and every one of the company agreed, unaware that Donnabelle was already aware of their plans.

**ACIEACIE**

Nori was packing up the last of his supplies at the gate when he heard a throat clear behind him.  He spun around to face a young dwarfling that was vaguely familiar.  The chestnut wavy hair fell to the dwarf’s shoulders and it was pulled back out of his face in a partial ponytail.  There were no other adornments in the young dwarf’s hair.  His blue eyes reminded the spymaster of the dwarven king.  Nori ran his eyes over the other person partially hidden in the shadows and thought the youngling looked remarkably like the Frérin Donnabelle had shown them on the Carrock, though also different.

“Yes?”

“Could you do me a favour, Master Nori?”  When the dwarfling spoke, it was with a voice that Nori had long since forgotten.  Yet he was not sure where he had heard the voice before.

“Perhaps.  What is this favour?”

The young dwarf cleared his throat again.  “I know you are going south to find a particular person to bring them back to justice.  You may not find them, but if you find Starur and he is still a slave, give him this.”  He pulled out a small katar; a weapon that had a triangular blade and was joined to a rectangular handhold along the shortest side of the triangle.  Nori took the well-crafted weapon off the young dwarf and looked it over.  There was only one other person he had seen that carried a blade like it and that was Donnabelle.

“Where did you get this?”

“He made it for me.  Starur will recognise it and will help anyone that comes in my name.”

The spymaster looked up and focused on the other dwarf’s face.  “Thérin?”  He received a nod in reply.  Nori ran his hand over his face.  “You know what I’m doing?”

“It’s why I told you his name.  I don’t think you’ll find him in the South.”

“Why not?”

Donnabelle looked away and swallowed.  “If he is still alive, he’ll be in his seventies.  And I had a feeling he followed Frérin and me after we… left.  Please.  Find Starur and bring him back with any other slaves you find.  Kaupi will find justice another way, if my family has anything to say about it.”

Nori gave his queen a brief smile.  “What have you got planned?”

“I told you that the Tooks were protective of me?”  The thief nodded with a frown on his face.  “Other than the rangers, no human was welcomed within the borders of the Shire.  Several of my cousins travelled to Bree, where they reported a man with similar characteristics and appearance to my former master.  From what I heard recently, the Lady Dís is in the Shire?”

 “She is.”

“Hmmm… I wonder what my family would tell her.”

**ACIEACIE**

Dís, daughter of Thráin, was not at all impressed when a late snow storm forced her and her entourage to seek shelter in the Shire.  She was loathed to seek shelter in one of the inns until the worst of the storm was over.

From what she had heard of hobbits over the years, they had not been all that hospitable toward outsiders until one young lass had returned to Hobbiton more dwarf than hobbit.  Dís could not recall the name of the hobbit lass, nor give a viable description when she was asked for it.  Of course, she did not remember the circumstances that surrounded the girl’s disappearance or of the girl’s return.  All she knew from the stories of other dwarrow that had travelled through the area that the hobbits had become friendlier to outsiders because of that one lass.

Not that it mattered much to her current predicament: Dís had really wanted to return to Erebor with the last caravan in the previous summer.  That did _not_ happen after the Blue Mountains were attacked by the surviving orcs that survived the Battle of the Five Armies just as the last caravan was preparing to set out for their ancient homeland.  So her departure had been delayed until it was too late to safely travel the distance during the winter.  She wrote to Thorin to explain the situation and wanted him to know that she would arrive in the mountain as soon as she could.

“Cousin, does that dwarf remind you of anyone?” a voice interrupted the dark-haired princess’s thoughts.  The dam turned her azure gaze upward from her mug of ale just as two hobbits sat down in the chairs opposite her.  Dís was sitting in a darkened corner of the Green Dragon, wanting some peace before her company set out the following morning for Erebor.

The younger of the two cousins had coppery curls and cheerful green eyes.  “Yes,” he drawled.  “Reminds me of a certain dwarf lord…  What was his name?”

“Oakenbark?  Bagginshield?”

“What do you want?” Dís growled.

The two hobbits suddenly got serious when the older one pulled out a charcoal drawing.  “Do you recognise this dwarf?”

Dís reached out and pulled the parchment closer to her with a trembling hand.  Of course, she recognised dwarf in the drawing.  “That… that’s Frérin.  How did you get this?”

“Who was he to you?” a third hobbit asked as he joined the two hobbits and one dwarrowdam at the table.  Dís looked over the new hobbit with veiled interest.  Though she did not know a lot about how hobbits aged, she would place his age between the two hobbits that had joined her initially.  He was also more regal looking and held himself in a way she had seen many times before with Thorin.

“My brother.  How did you get this?”

Fortinbras sighed and looked at the two cousins he had sent to Erebor with their uncles.  “Are you sure this is a picture of Frérin?  Not of…” he turned to the younger Took cousin in askance.

“Fíli,” Adalger supplied.  “Bilbo said the blond prince looked like his late uncle.”

“This is not my son.  It’s Frérin.”  Dís placed the picture back on the table.  “Mind introducing yourselves and telling me how you know of him?”

Fortinbras cocked an eyebrow.  “I am Thain Fortinbras Took and these are my cousins, Dondinas Brandybuck and Adalger Took.  We got that,” he indicated to the drawing of Frérin, “from our cousin Bilbo.”

Dís growled low in her throat.  Her two guards stepped closer to the table in an effort to show her their support.  “Unless your cousin is at least 150 years old, I don’t see how.  Frérin died during a battle 144 years ago, as did my father and grandfather.”

“Bilbo is 42,” Dondinas quietly said.  “Only a few months younger than me.”

“That’s not possible,” the dwarrowdam refuted.  “Thorin wouldn’t have lied to me about our brother’s death.  He fell defending Fundin…”

“Did Thorin actually state that Frérin was killed, or that he _fell_?” Adalger posed.  “We know that this dwarf survived whatever battle happened 144 years ago.  If he had not, Bilbo would have never been returned to the Shire after she was taken as a slave.”

Dís paused at the statements Adalger made.  How was she to believe these hobbits?  Had Frérin really survived the battle only to be… wait.  “Bilbo?”

The three hobbits looked at each other with some sort of dread.  Of course, each and every one of them would use Donnabelle’s male name, as was their habit.  “You may have heard of her.  She went with Thorin to reclaim Erebor.”

“I thought the halfling that went with my idiot brother was Donnabelle, not Bilbo.”

“Round these parts, she’s known as Bilbo, but her name is Donnabelle.  And to warn you: DON’T call us halflings.  Rather insulting when we’re not even half your height.”

The dam pursed her lips and nodded.  She understood.  “How did this hobbit know of Frérin?  You mentioned something about slavery?”

“Our cousin was taken just after one of our grandfather’s mid-summer parties.  She was sold into slavery and taken to the southern parts of Gondor.  Her masters also owned two other slaves: Frérin and Starur.  Frérin took Bilbo under his wing and protected her until they could buy their freedom.  We are not sure what became of Starur.”

The princess ran a hand over her weary face.  She knew that name.  Starur had been an apprentice blacksmith beginning his training with Thorin’s teacher just as Thorin finished his mastery.  Taking in a calming breath, Dís focused her attention back on the three hobbits in front of her.  “What happened to Frérin?”

“He died protecting her,” Fortinbras answered.  He paused and waited for the dwarven princess to collect herself.  Then he continued, “What is interesting though, and this might not mean much to you, is that we found out the slave owner’s name.”

“And that he had settled in Bree, no more than a few days ride from Tookland.”

Dís leant forward.  “What is his name and where is he now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uslâr = slavers
> 
> Kaupi (name of the slaver that owned Frérin and Donnabelle) is a Norse name that means ‘purchaser’ or ‘merchant’


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori finds Starur and Balin sits down to have a conversation with Donnabelle.

Nori looked around the southern town of men wearily.  He hadn’t been given much direction from Donnabelle as to where she and Frérin had been kept as slaves.  All he had been going on was that she had spent most of her childhood in the south.  Glancing back over his shoulder at the three dwarrow he had travelled with, he gave them a brief nod.  They knew to keep close.

“What are filthy dwarves doing in these parts?”

The tri-pointed dwarf turned to glare at the growl directed at him.  “We are here to get some work done at the forge.  We will stay no longer than necessary to get the work done.  Let us passed.”

“We don’t want no dwarves trading in these parts,” the man shot back.

Nori pulled his mace turned walking stick up and ready to swing when another man stepped forward.

“I would not threaten them, Master Calder.  These dwarves come from Erebor.”

Calder turned to face the second man with a dark look on his face.  They were currently in the marketplace.  “Oh really, Halvor?  And how would you know that?”

Halvor shrugged.  “Why wouldn’t they be here from Erebor?  We all heard the stories about the dragon.  We heard how the wyrm was defeated by dwarves reclaiming their homeland.  It makes sense that they would now come to establish a trade route with the south.”  The younger man raised an eyebrow, daring the dark-haired merchant to disagree with him.  And as they were in a public place, he knew that no one would.

Calder grunted and spun away.  There was nothing he could do about the dwarves from Erebor, though he was loathed to let them wander around the city unaccompanied.

Nori jadedly looked over the man that came to the dwarf’s defence.  “We could handle ourselves.”

Halvor turned to level his gaze on the dwarf.  “And start an incident that could cause you to be driven out of town, imprisoned or killed?  I think not.  Now, who are you and what are you doing this far south?”

“We are the dwarrow from Erebor.  Our business is our own.”

“You won’t get any help here.  I suggest you leave before you do something that could really get you into trouble.”

The thief frowned.  “Why is that?”

“We are not over fond of dwarves in this town.  Not after the incident twenty years ago.”

“What incident would that be?”

Halvor raised an eyebrow.  “As if you do not know of the two slaves that left here in less than ideal circumstances.  That dwarf spoke of Erebor a few times.  What do you expect us to do when dwarves come to our town?”  He turned and left the four dwarrow standing in the middle of the street.

Torrim crossed his arms and settled his gaze on Nori.  Nori held up his hand for silence until they were in not in such a public place.  Once the four dwarrow were off the street, the thief gave the other three a small smile.

“At least we know we are in the right place.  The incident that the man told us about would fit with the timeline that Donnabelle gave us:  She and Prince Frérin would have gained their freedom just over twenty years ago.”

**~What happened to Starur?~**

Nori turned to Bifur.  “That’s what we’ve got to find out.  He was a blacksmith?”  Bifur nodded.  “Well, we’re going to head to the blacksmith and find out if Starur is working there.  If he isn’t, we’ll keep looking.”

**ACIEACIE**

 The four dwarrow split up, with Nori heading to the blacksmith on his own while Bifur and Torrim went in search of a place to stay for the night and Fin went to find supplies.  The thief carried with him the katar Donnabelle had given him in efforts of getting it sharpened.  He also had the idea of getting some other small tools commissioned as a gift for Ori.  It didn’t take him long to find the dwarven blacksmith in a back, out of the way, alleyway.

“What do you want?” came a gruff voice just as the tri-crested dwarf entered the darkened forge.

The thief turned spymaster looked around the area and spotted a greying dwarf at the anvil with a hammer slung across his shoulder and he was just placing the horseshoe he was working on in the water barrel before he turned partially toward the door.

“Do you greet all your potential customers that way?”

“You’re not a customer,” the dwarf growled.  “No one comes in here without the master’s by your leave, and you don’t have that.  I’ll ask again, what do you what?”

“I’m here to get some work done.”

“No,” the slave growled.  There was a rattling of a chain as the dwarf took a step toward the door.  Nori found his eyes drawn to the floor and to the chain that was secured around the dwarf’s ankle.  “You’re here for me.  Which ain’t gonna happen.”  Starur gave the spymaster one last dark look before he turned back to the anvil and water barrel.  “If that is all, leave.”

Nori pulled out the katar Starur had gifted to Donnabelle.  “I came on behalf of another.  She asked me to show you this and tell you that she wants to thank you personally.”

Starur turned back to the dirty blond dwarf.  It was only then that Nori took in the slave’s appearance.  Starur’s midnight black hair was streaked with grey and it fell unevenly to his collar.  His beard was just beginning to grow out again from being sawn off recently.  There were tiny scars littering the dwarf’s hollowed cheeks.  His left eye was cloudy and unfocused with a pale, ragged scar embossed over it.  The other eye was a stormy dark brown.

Nori swallowed hard.  Donnabelle had warned them that Starur’s appearance may be unpleasant for them, yet she had not given justice to the slave’s disfigurement.

“Where is this person?”

The thief cleared his throat and diverted his eyes briefly.  “Erebor.”

Starur cocked an eyebrow.  He was used to getting stared at when he was out in the village because of his appearance.  But having a dwarf uncomfortable in his presence did not speak well of what was to come.  It was only then that he allowed his attention to be drawn to the weapon the spymaster held.  He felt his eyes widen.  That katar was one of a pair he’d made for Donnabelle, just before she and Frérin escaped.  “She’s still alive?”  Nori’s tongue shot out and moistened his lips as he nodded.  “What about Prince Frérin?”

“He was killed protecting her.”

The slave lowered his eyes as he allowed that to wash over him.  Frérin had been a good friend and protector.  The older dwarf had taken a fair number of beatings in protection of both Starur and Donnabelle over the time they had all been slaves together.  There were many times over the twenty years since their escape that the younger dwarven slave wished he had gone with them.

“What…”  Starur cleared his throat and began his question again.  “What does she expect you to do?  Or me?  I cannot leave here.  They will kill the next slave who tries.”

“I will sort it out,” Nori promised with all the muster he could.

“No!” the slave shot back.  “It’s more than my life at stake here.  I am not leaving.  Not until you can promise me _their_ safety.  Don’t come back until you can.”

Nori blinked at the refusal but knew he had been dismissed.  He turned and left the forge, thinking over what he had learnt.  What others could Starur be talking about?  Unless… there was more than one slave currently in the village and Starur was trying to protect them as much as he could.  There was only one thing for it.  The thief knew he had to go inform the other three dwarrow that had come with him of Starur’s refusal to budge, and the potential of freeing more than one slave that day.

**ACIEACIE**

Donnabelle bit her lower lip as she entered Balin’s office.  It had been nearly four months since Nori and Bifur had let to head south in hopes to find Kaupi or Starur.  And though one of the company had mentioned the spymaster’s mission to the hobbit, they all knew she knew of it.

 “How may I help you, my queen?” Balin asked as he watched Donnabelle flop on the chair opposite his desk.  She rolled her eyes.

“I thought you knew not to call me that.”

The advisor snorted at the hobbit’s retort.  “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“My family sent me a missive.  About Lady Dís’ visit.”

“And?”

“She will be taking a slight detour before she makes it back to Erebor.”

“What type of detour?”

Donnabelle licked her lips and couldn’t bring herself to look at Balin in the eye.  “Kaupi lived in Bree until about 3 years ago.  They drove him out when they learnt he was a slaver.”

Balin dropped his quill and leaned his head on his hand.  “And you only thought to bring this up now?”

The hobbit shivered slightly at the rough bark that issued out of her husband’s close friend.  She let out a small sob before she quietly said, “Nori knows.”  Without really thinking, she brushed at the tears beginning to form in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything in Bree?”

“I didn’t think we would run into him.  No one in Bree would ever think of harming a hobbit surrounded by thirteen dwarrow and a wizard even if they knew who I was to the master.”  She took in a shuddering breath.  “And I didn’t know you well then.”

Balin opened his mouth and then closed it again.  What was he to say?  Donnabelle was right: they had barely known the small lass when they had stopped in Bree on their journey eastward.  It hadn’t been until after they got passed the Misty Mountains that she began opening up to them, and there was little point mentioning her former owner had lived so close to her home while they were focusing on reclaiming the Mountain.

“What…” her voice was small and Balin could hear a slight tremble in it.  “What if I can’t ever give him children, Balin?”  When the white-haired advisor didn’t answer, the hobbit looked up.  “I want to give him a child.  That… that would make him happy, wouldn’t it?”

“Where did this come from?”

“Doesn’t he need an heir?”

“He’s named Fíli his heir.”

Donnabelle worried her lower lip.  Then she admitted, “He might not say it, but I can see it.  The desire to have a child to call his own.  The disappointment each time my cycle comes.  If…  I don’t think I could face that again.”

The wise old dwarf frowned.  There was more to it than what Donnabelle was saying.  And though he didn’t have any biological sisters or a wife, Balin knew a little about how a female’s body worked.  Each moon phase, the female’s body would reset in preparation for carrying a child and they got moody, short-tempered and lost who knew how much of their life blood.

“Are you…” he trailed, hoping that he was hearing things correctly.  Was Donnabelle saying she was _pregnant?_

“Late,” she whispered.  “Only a few days.  Nothing certain yet.”

“Will…” he began before he cleared his throat.  He tried again.  “Will you tell Thorin?”

“No.  What if I’m not?”

“What if you _are_?  Doesn’t he deserve to know?”

Donnabelle swallowed with some difficulty.  “I’m scared, Balin.  There are so many things that could go wrong.  Last… last time I didn’t let myself think about it beyond knowing it was his.  There were other, more important things on our minds.  I couldn’t worry about what could happen until after… after he came back.”

“Then you lost the child.”

She nodded.  “I can’t help think about what happened with Thérin.”

“That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”  Her voice sounded lost and Balin felt his heart break.  Donnabelle rarely let anyone close enough for her to show what she was really feeling.  In fact, he could only think of one other person she’d fully opened up with and that was Thorin.  And he knew he would do anything to live up to the trust this fragile flower put in him.  The last time he remembered hearing her sound so broken was before the battle.  Even before they’d entered Mirkwood, if he was honest with himself.

“Because you won’t have to do this alone, namadith.  Thorin won’t ever let anything bad happen to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> namadith = little sister


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update: it’s hard to find time to write in the middle of exams and moving countries.  
>  **~Khuzdul~**  
>  _[Hobbitish]_

Dís was surprised that two hobbits decided to join them on their journey east to Erebor, but she could not fault them for wanting to see justice for their cousin.  The old man was not as old as she was first led to believe when they found him living in the abandoned farmhouse just off the Great East Road.  The same farmhouse that Thorin and his company had camped out at just before their run-in with William, Bert and Tom.

And though she had debated taking the two hobbits with her, she was glad they had insisted on traveling with the dwarrow.  Otherwise, they would never have recognised Kaupi for who he truly was.  The man was a coward in his early sixties.  It looked like he was used to a comfortable life until the men of Bree drove him away: and someone who was used to getting his way.  Dís would dearly enjoy taking justice into her own hands, yet she knew it was Thorin’s right to be the one to pass judgement himself.  But… that didn’t mean she and the other dwarrow had to make it comfortable for the man.

A feral smile spread across her face.  They didn’t really have a pony strong enough to carry the weight of a grown man, nor was there a lot of room on the wagon.  And they didn’t have time to return to Bree to purchase a horse for their prisoner.  By Mahal, she was eager to return to Erebor that summer and nothing was going to stop her.

“Tie up his hands and strap him to the wagon,” Dís commanded.  “He’s going to walk to Erebor.”  The dwarrow with her jumped to obey, each with answering grins on their faces.

The two hobbits, not wanting to be outdone by the dwarrow, asked gleefully, “Do you mind if we take charge of his food?”

Dís looked over at the couple that were moving to Erebor (she couldn’t fathom why; the hobbit that had joined Thorin on his quest was gone) and nodded.  She knew hobbits were passionate about their food and could make Kaupi’s life very uncomfortable, though they would not starve him.  “As long as he makes it to the mountain to face my brother, I don’t care what he eats.”

Adalger shared a grin with his wife of three months.  They would help bring justice for their cousin, even if it was in a small way of feeding Kaupi on their journey to Erebor.  Mimosa returned the grin of her husband and the man swallowed hard at the looks getting sent his way by both dwarrow and hobbits.

“You can’t do this to me!  Do you know who I am?  I can make your life difficult.”

Dís turned to the once owner of her brother.  “And you have no idea who _we_ are.  We are well within our rights to take you to face justice for the acts you carried out toward _Frérin_.”

Kaupi gulped.  He remembered the blond dwarf he had owned twenty years before and what he forced the slave to do.  But… no, these dwarrow he was currently in bondage to had nothing to do with that dwarf.  There was no obvious familial resemblance between these dwarrow and the dwarf he owned.  His gaze flickered to the two hobbits that were also traveling with them.  Neither of _them_ looked like the small scrap he’d owned either.  He set his jaw.  “You cannot take me.  I refuse!”

The wagon jarred forward, pulling on the bonds that tied the proud man’s hands together.

“I don’t think you have a choice,” Mimosa said sweetly.

One of the dwarven guards just behind the hobbits smirked and growled out: “We know what you are: kosez dan menu rukhs.”

Some of the other dwarrow laughed outright and quickly agreed.  Kaupi did not know what they had said but from what he could gather, it wasn’t something nice.  What had he gotten himself into when he inherited those two dwarrow from his father?

**ACIEACIE**

Bifur entered the forge with Nori.  Both dwarrow were going to stay until Starur agreed to leave with them.  Torrim and Fin went in search of his current master in effort of buying the blacksmith’s freedom, as well as any and all other slaves owned by the man.

Starur briefly looked up as the two dwarrow entered before he turned back to the latest project he was working on.

“I told you to leave me alone,” the slave said as he finished the repair to the cast iron skillet he had been working on.

 **~Donnabelle wouldn’t want us to do that,~** Bifur grunted.  **~Otherwise she’ll name a bunny after you.~**

Starur turned to face the two dwarrow from Erebor.  He tried to keep his face schooled into a neutral expression, but Bifur could tell he was annoyed.  “And did she tell you what a bunny is to her?”  Nori and Bifur looked at each other and raised an eyebrow at the other before they returned their attention to Starur.  The dwarf sighed when he could see they had no clue what Donnabelle had meant by her relayed comment.  “So what can I do for you, Master Nori?”  The slave hadn’t meant the question to come out as a growl, yet it had.

Nori blinked at the threatening growl that came out of the other dwarf.  Bifur grunted.  **~There’s no reason to be hostile, Starur.  We’re trying to negotiate your freedom.~**

Starur turned to face the Khuzdul speaking dwarf.  **~And what is to become of my… children?~**

“You have children?”

“A boy and a girl.”

“They’re going to come with us,” Nori promised.

A new voice cleared their throat from the doorway that led to the inner workshop.  The three dwarrow turned to look at the new comer.  Before them stood a young dwarrowdam that had not yet reached her eighteenth year.  “The master wants to see us, adad.”  Starur nodded and gazed over at Nori and Bifur.  His daughter followed his gaze.  “Them too.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“At the house with the other two dwarrow.”

Starur swallowed and set about making the forge safe for the day if he was not back.  The three other dwarrow watched as he worked.  He was soon turning back to them so they could head to the master’s house.  Nori and Sif led the way while Bifur and Starur followed.

“You lost the axe,” Starur said quietly.

Bifur glanced sideways.  “Yes.”

The younger dwarf looked a little stunned at the issue of Westron out of the slightly older, and more world-weary, dwarf.  It had been a long time since he had heard Bifur being able to speak in the Common Tongue.  “You speak Westron?”

“Some,” Bifur responded.  **~I’m more comfortable speaking Khuzdul.  Where is their mother?~**

It didn’t take a genius to work out whom Bifur was referring to.  “She died.  The day our youngest was born.”

**~I’m sorry.~**

Starur nodded in acceptance.  But he wasn’t really sure how genuine Bifur’s condolences were.  He bowed his head and entered the home of his master.  The toymaker followed closely behind him.  The owner of the home turned to face the final new comer with disinterest before he narrowed his gaze on the slave he had owned for twenty years.

“These dwarrow have bought you, slave.”

The blacksmith lifted his gaze briefly before he dropped it again.  “What are the conditions?”

“No conditions, bar what they set for you.”

Starur swallowed hard and cleared his throat.  “Have my children also been sold?”

“They have.”

“And… and the third?”

The master, Knut, gave a tight grin.  “His freedom has not been purchased.  I will not part with the third.”

Without shifting his gaze around the room, the blacksmith grunted.  **~I will not leave without him.  I swore I’d protect him and if nothing else, I can do this.~**

Bifur moved to the slave’s side and narrowed his eyes.  **~Who is this third?~**

**~The son of a long dead friend.~**

Nori turned to the slave owner.  “How much?”

Knut shook his head.  “I will not part with him.”

The thief raised an eyebrow and looked down at his fingers.  “So that means you’re also going to make the journey back to Erebor with us.”

“Make me.”

Bifur grinned.  “With pleasure.”

**ACIEACIE**

Kaupi serious regretted crossing any dwarf and yet, he could not help think that none of what was happening to him was his fault.  Or the consequences of his past choices.  He complained the entire journey to Erebor.  It wasn’t _his_ fault he had inherited Frérin and Starur when his father had died just after his nineteenth birthday.  And really, who could blame him for buying the little runt that later caused him so much trouble with both of the dwarrows he owned?

Other slave owners had told him he should use his female slaves for producing ‘stock’ to sell.  He hadn’t thought of the dangers that would pose to the one female slave he owned, or cause a rift between him and the two original slaves.  How was he to know it wasn’t wise to force a child to carry; that things could go wrong?  After all, he had seen his own people producing offspring at a young age and he thought that the same genetics would be carried by all races in Arda.

When the blond dwarf he owned had put his foot down and sought to protect the young halfling, Kaupi knew things would go from bad to worse.  His reputation was in shambles after losing the dwarfling child.  He tried holding on but it hadn’t lasted more than two years so he did the only thing he could: he sold everything and freed the two ‘trouble-making slaves’ and had disappeared.

It wasn’t before he had shamed the pair of dwarrow completely though.  As one final gift to them, Kaupi ordered both Starur and Frérin to be shaved.  And he tried taking the young female for himself.

Who could blame him for the attempt?  It wasn’t like anyone else would care and if she ended up dead ten months down the track and he would have taken one of the rotten slaves from the world.  And he hadn’t really been the one at fault.  After all, he could chalk it up to the circumstances.  His father was the one who bought the first slaves.  He had just carried on with the tradition.  Really, he hadn’t been the one to suggest using the slaves to turn a profit or produce more slaves for him to sell.  All he did was listen to the (sound, yet doubtful) advice others had given him.

He wasn’t the one that forced Frérin into the situation.  Nor the one who got the halfling pregnant.  Or even got the child she had sick.  And it wasn’t like he could control his own urges when he lost everything.  If he were to blame anyone, it would be the two troublesome slaves that made him leave everything he’d ever known behind.

“Please!  I’m innocent of whatever it is you say I did.”

Dís loved over her shoulder at the man.  “Gag him.  I’ve had enough of his whining.”

“With pleasure.”

“Where are you taking me?  I demand an answer!  Do you even know who I am?”

 _[A piece of filth,]_ Mimosa said to her husband.

“Gelek menu caragu rukhs,” a dwarf added.  “You’re going to face justice, slaver.”

“I wasn’t a slave owner,” Kaupi denied just as the gag was tied securely round his face.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Adalger spat.  “King Thorin will definitely challenge you on _that_ claim.  As will any one of his company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adad = father  
> Gelek menu caragu rukhs = you smell like Orc crap  
> kosez dan menu rukhs = you're uglier than an Orc


	14. Chapter 13

Thorin was worried.  Donnabelle was keeping something from him.  But he could not place his finger on it.  Some mornings, he found her huddled over a bowl with a pasty greyness to her face.  Other times he found her half-asleep in the library at odd times or even in their kitchen at all hours.  Still other times, he found her parading around their quarters wearing nought but one of his shirts.  Not that he would ever complain about seeing _her_ wearing _his_ clothing.

But to have Donnabelle skip a meal with the company was troublesome.  Since her ‘return’, she had never missed a meal with him or with the company.  He strode through the royal quarters to the sleep chambers he shared with his wife, only to find her in one of his shirts, curled on her side and clutching his pillow to her chest.  A small smile appeared on his face as he approached the bed and sat down.  He fingered a loose strand of her honey-brown locks and tucked it behind her pointed ear.  There was one thing he thought it _could_ be, but he had dismissed it: after all, she wouldn’t keep something like a _gem_ from him.  Would she?

She shifted slightly and stretched.  Blinking sleepily, she opened her eyes and saw him leaning over her.

He licked his lips and wondered what exactly he could say.  He settled on, “Agyâdê.”

“Mmmmm…” she responded.  “Kurdula.”

“You missed dinner,” he told her.  His voice was filled with worry, as if it was a rare occurrence for her to skip a meal.  And it was since the food supply was picking up again for the mountain.

“I did?”

“Yes.  Is there anything you want to tell me?”

She frowned and sat up.  “Like what?”

“Could…” he began.  Was it right for him to voice his suspicions?  That maybe… maybe they were expecting a little one?  He hadn’t been around a lot of pregnant dams, but he remembered well some of their symptoms early from each of Dís’ pregnancies.

“It came last week,” she lied quietly.

Thorin furrowed his brow.  He picked up on her lie.  “Are you sure?”

She swallowed and couldn’t bring herself to look up at him.  Biting her lower lip, she lowered her gaze to her lap.  “I don’t want to face him, Thorin.  Not after… after that last day.”

Him?  Thorin’s frown deepened.  What… _‘him’_ was his brave hobbit so terrified of?  She brought her gaze up and connected with his concerned blue eyes.  Her hand moved up to cover her mouth and she whimpered.  He reached out and guided her head to his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

“Master Kau.  Don’t make me face him.”

Thorin didn’t really know what to do when Donnabelle reached for him and threaded her hand into his shirt over his heart.  He wrapped his arms around her tighter and leant his cheek against the crest of her head.  What had the man done to his precious wife?  She trembled against him and again, he felt his heart swell that his brave, strong hobbit felt safe enough to break down in front of him.

“I can’t promise you that.”  His voice was thick with emotion.  He felt her nod against him.  Both knew that whatever was to come, Donnabelle would have to be there to face Kaupi and pass judgment over the man that tormented her childhood.  “What I can promise you is this: you will not have to face this alone.  I won’t let you do this on your own, amrâlimê.”

He looked up just as Balin lowered his gaze and quietly left the royal couple alone.  The king rightly guessed the advisor would go and inform the rest of the company their burglar was afraid of what might happen when Kaupi came to face judgment.

**ACIEACIE**

Donnabelle briefly caught sight of Balin outside her scheduled doctor’s appointment.  It was her second one since she first suspected her impending motherhood and as of yet, she thought no one was the wiser.  Of course, no one was expecting her to be going to appointments disguised as a dwarrowdam, nor for her to be so secretive in regards to her health.

Without much fanfare, the hobbit made her way past the aging advisor and out of view.  He watched her leave before he returned his attention to the rest of the dwarrow milling about the area he was observing.  Soon, he was being approached by Ori.  The wise old dwarf frowned as the young scholar came and nervously stood beside him.

“Are you waiting for someone in particular?” Ori asked quietly.

“Not particularly.”

The dark blond dwarf nodded slowly and looked down at the fingerless gloves he wore.  “She’s in the library, if you’re interested.”  Balin’s frown deepened as he fully focused on the scribe.  Ori brought his gaze up and gave his mentor a small smile.  “Donnabelle told me I could find you here.  She joined me in the library not that long ago.”

“How did she…”

“She, uh, told me how King Thorin’s been overbearing since he found out she’s… stressed.”

The old dwarf raised an eyebrow.  “Is that all?”

It was Ori’s turn to frown.  “What do you mean?”

A throat cleared behind them and Ori jumped as he went for his slingshot.  Balin spun and reached to the dagger that was hidden beneath his robes.

“Do you really think this is the best place to discuss this?” Bofur asked.  Both scholars looked chastised.  They knew neither Thorin nor Donnabelle would appreciate that they had been caught discussing a private matter in a public place.  “And from what we learnt from the other hobbits, are you surprised she’s stressed?”

Bofur turned from the pair and went to the stall he had set up with his cousin.  Balin and Ori watched the usually happy-go-lucky dwarf meander off before they headed toward the library.  The pair picked up on their conversation.

“She said nothing else?” Balin asked quietly.

Ori shook his head.  “All she told me was that the sickness she had were common symptoms of stress.  No indication of anything else, despite what it looked like.”

“So she’s not actually…” the white-haired dwarf trailed and swallowed hard.  He could not complete his sentence.  Both Donnabelle and Thorin would be disappointed that another month had gone by without news of an addition to the royal household.  If Donnabelle _had_ ever told Thorin of her suspicions in the first place.  Or if Thorin had the courage to broach the subject with her.

When they entered, there was no sight of Donnabelle.

“Balin!”

The two dwarrow looked at each other before the white-haired advisor told Ori to return to whatever he had been doing before being sent to find him.  Balin turned to the direction he heard his name and began searching for their resident hobbit.

He jumped as Donnabelle seemingly appeared in front of him with a look of surprise and shock on her face.  “There you are.  I need your clarification on something.”

Balin furrowed his brow but followed after Donnabelle.  She stopped at the table she had commandeered for translation work.  The hobbit shifted through some of the scattered parchment she was working on before her face lit up.  “Ah.  Here,” she said and handed the advisor the ancient tome she’d been working on.  Balin took the book off her and began reading.  It wasn’t long before he stopped and had both eyebrows raised in surprise.  He looked up at her and saw her smile widen.  “So the law is still in effect then?”

“Yes.  It has not been used for several generations, but it can still be upheld.  Thorin will make sure of it.”

“He won’t like it,” Donnabelle said.

The advisor laughed dryly.  “No, he won’t.  But if we do this right, he won’t have a choice.  But…” the old dwarf paused and breathed deeply.  “Are you sure you want to invoke this rite?”

Donnabelle turned her attention to her worktable and nodded slowly.  “I think maybe I have to.”  Without really thinking about it, her hand drifted to rest on her slightly pudgy stomach.  “If circumstances were different; if Frérin were here, I wouldn’t think about it.  But… I’ve got more than myself to think of Balin.  I’ve got to start thinking of what’s right for Thorin.  And I think doing this would be the best for both of us.”

Balin followed the movement of her hand with his gaze and he felt his jaw go slack.  “Does he know?”

She shook her head.  “I don’t know how to tell him.”

**ACIEACIE**

Nori and Bifur were glad for the extra dwarrow that had agreed to go south with them when they were forced to take Guaire into custody when the man refused to give up the slave rights to a third dwarven child in his possession.  And Starur’s stubbornness rivalled even the stubbornness of Thorin.

Because, even with the reassurance that his freedom and the freedom of his own children had been purchased, Starur would not leave the town without the third child.  His promise was far more important to him than his own life.  So the thief and toymaker did the only thing they could do: they called on the dwarrow they left camped a half a day’s ride from the town to come and pack the slave owner’s belongings and forced him and all that was in his household to journey with them back to Erebor.

When eventually the dwarrow had found the third child Starur refused to leave behind, both toymaker and spymaster understood why the blacksmith could not honestly leave without him.  And they knew that if they had left the child (who, by all rights, was not a child even at twenty-six years of age) behind, Dwalin would throw them in prison and throw away the key.  Who knew what Thorin would do to them.  And they shuddered to think what their zantulbasn would do if she ever found out.

The boy was silent, bar for the times Starur asked him a direct question.  Tirlun and Lirlun (Starur’s son and daughter) were also in the older boy’s confidence and the three of them were often seen together in the evenings.  Not that Nori or Bifur blamed any of the dwarflings for seeking comfort from one another on their journey to a place that was not their home and very different from what they had come to expect from life.

They just hoped that once they got to the mountain that something could be done to help the three of them adapt to a life of freedom.

And that Thorin would not kill the man responsible before justice could be done.

**ACIEACIE**

Dís smiled as she lifted her gaze up to view the mountain home she had not seen in so long.  The journey had been a long one and she was so glad that they were less than an afternoon’s ride from the main gates.  The company she had travelled with had camped nearly a full day’s ride south of Dale their last night on the trail and had not even bothered to travel through the human city earlier that day in preference of reaching the mountain in time for the evening meal.

Kaupi had succumbed to his many travel injuries (none so severe that he would not be able to face justice within the week) and had to be put in the lightest wagon a week before they reached the mountain.  The worst injury the man had was a twisted ankle, which Dís was not too impressed with.  But she could not rightly force the man to walk the remainder of the journey when he could not even put weight on the swollen joint.  The man had complained about every bump and bruise he got from being jousted about, or from where the rope had dug into his wrists.  And he even complained about the food they force-fed him in the mornings and evenings.  When they had enough of his complaining, they gagged him (which he complained about when they took it off him to feed him).

The dark-haired princess rolled her eyes.  She would be glad that he would not be her sole responsibility once they got into the mountain.  That would fall to her brother.  She slid off her pony just as Adalger and Mimosa slid off their cart.  The three of them looked around the entranceway of the mighty dwarven kingdom.

Dís frowned as she did not see her sons nor her brother there to greet her.  Turning to her honour guard, she commanded them to see that Kaupi was seen to.  Looking at the two hobbits, she wondered again why the pair of them had joined them on this journey before she took another look around the main entrance chamber of her birthplace.  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.  Oh, how she missed her childhood in this place.

Adalger spotted the dam before any of the others in their company and his eyes widened slightly.  He glanced sideways at his wife and she caught sight of his concerned look.  She frowned at him.  His eyes darted quickly to Donnabelle in her disguise and back again.  Mimosa’s brow furrowed deeper before she realised whom it was that was coming toward them.  Both hobbits tried not drawing attention to themselves when Donnabelle called out to Dís.  And they really hoped that the other hobbit would _not_ say anything about the guards taking Kaupi away.

But it was soon apparent that the dwarrowdam was solely focused on the returning princess and not anyone else in the caravan.

“You never told me she was compromised!” Mimosa hissed when Donnabelle had led Dís away from the entrance hall.

_[She’s not anymore.  At least, that’s what Uncle told me before we left.]_

_[Then why were we greeted by a dwarrowdam you clearly recognised?]_

Adalger swallowed hard.  _[Because… that’s what she looked like the last time I was here.  Bilbo was still seen as a dwarrowdam the last night we were together.]_

Mimosa frowned.  _[What do you mean?]_

_[I think... she finds it safer to remain anonymous in the mountain.  And when we left last year, Bilbo hadn’t forgiven herself yet.]_

_[For what?]_

The Changeling bit his lower lip before he admitted, _[For whatever happened that caused her to be compromised in the first place.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agyâdê = my happiness  
> Kurdula = my heart of all hearts  
> Amrâlimê = my love of all loves  
> Zantulbasn = hobbit


	15. Chapter 14

“Adalger,” Donnabelle began when she found her cousin early the next morning.  She had left Thorin in their quarters while she went in search of her first meal of the day.  And as she entered the kitchen where the on duty dwarrow were just beginning to stir and begin preparations for breakfast, she found her younger cousin and his new wife entering to find some first breakfast for themselves.  “What are you doing here?”

The younger Changeling looked up with a guilty expression on his face.  “I wanted to see justice done.”

Donnabelle narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest.  “Uh-huh.”

Mimosa looked between her husband and her cousin by marriage.  The way that the older hobbit had responded sounded like the woman expected something more from Adalger.  When Adalger didn’t say anything, Donnabelle sighed and sat down.  One of the kitchen workers came over.

**~Your usual, my lady?~**

The older Changeling looked up at the hand and gave him a smile.  **~Thank you.  Fix them some as well.~**   She looked back to the two hobbits and her smile dropped.  “The pair of you being here complicates things.  Take a seat.”

Mimosa took a seat opposite Donnabelle and asked, “How does it complicate things?”

_[Do either of you know dwarrow law or society?]_

Adalger shook his head and sat beside his wife.  _[You know we don’t, Bilbo.  You wouldn’t share anything about it when you came back.]_

Donnabelle’s eyes hardened as she levelled her gaze at her younger cousin.  _[Do you blame me for that, Adalger Took?  No one took any notice of me when I first returned to the Shire.  It wasn’t until after my mother died that Uncle Hildibrand came to check on me.  That was when people began to realise the amount of damage I had suffered.  Would you want to relive trauma that caused you to hide?]  _She took a deep breath and looked away from the two hobbits.  “Being a slave was not pleasant.  And I really hate the thought that the man who owned me is in this mountain.”

“What can we do?”

“Nothing.  If you do, then the ancient rite of justice won’t be upheld.”

Adalger and Mimosa looked at each other in confusion before they turned back to their cousin.  “What do you mean?”

_[You’re the closest blood relative I have in this mountain.  There is no way I want you to face Master Kau on my behalf.  He would kill you.]_

“What?”

_[There’s an ancient Dwarven rite where the person wronged can select their closest blood relative to challenge the wrongdoer to single combat if they are unable to perform the rite themselves.  After the wrongdoer has been brought to trial in front of the entire court and all the evidence has been heard against them, of course.  Right now, I cannot.  And I don’t want Thorin to do it.]_

“You… cannot?”

Donnabelle had a small smile on her face as she lowered her gaze and hand to her stomach.  She looked up again just as Adalger and Mimosa followed her hand movement downward.  Their eyes widened and their eyes snapped up to her face.  She nodded slightly as the dwarrow brought over a simple meal for the three of them.  The older Changeling cleared her throat and began eating.

_[Who would you get to fight in your place?]_

“Fíli.  Or Dwalin.”  Adalger nodded.  Donnabelle looked away and added, “We will have to wait until Nori and Bifur return with Starur.”

“Who’s Starur?” Mimosa asked.

“He was a slave with Frérin and me.”  The hobbit took one final bite before she let her eyes settle on her cousin.  Adalger met her gaze and sat up straighter.  He frowned and sent her a questioning look.  Donnabelle pushed the tip of her tongue through her lips.  “How well can you imitate me?”

**ACIEACIE**

Thorin rubbed the sleep from his eyes and moved into the living area he shared with his wife.  Like most mornings, she was up well before him so there was little point of him staying in bed.  He stopped as he entered the main living area.

“Morning,” he murmured when he finally registered Dís was sitting in his living area.

Dís looked up from the report she was reading.  “Good morning, nadad.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes slightly before he moved through to the kitchen.  He smiled slightly when he saw a cup of kafh ready for him and a note from Donnabelle stating where she’d gone and that she would see him for second breakfast.  Picking up the still hot kafh, he made his way back into the living area and to the settee.  “How can I help you this morning, namadith?”

Dís put her report down and angled herself toward her brother.  “Tell me about this… hobbit.”

“Donnabelle?” Thorin questioned with a raised eyebrow.  His sister gave a single nod.  A contented smile crossed his face as he looked at the mug he held in his hand.  “What do you want to know?”

“What made you decide to marry her?”  The dwarrowdam leant forward.  “How well do you actually know her?”

His eyes narrowed as he turned to look at his sister.  “Are you questioning my intentions toward her?”

“I’m just trying to get things straight in my head.  Will she make you happy?”

Thorin felt his expression soften as he thought back over the two years he had known Donnabelle.  Even before he knew of her true gender, he’d felt drawn to the burglar.  He nodded.  “She’s made me very happy.  Without her, I don’t think any of us would have reached the mountain.  Donnabelle’s not afraid to stand up to me when I need it.  She saved my life when we found out Azog was still alive.”

“And that was enough for you to fall in love with her?”

“No, but it was part of it.  Dís, she’s had a hard life and she tries not to let it affect her.  The first time she was plagued by memories after she told us of her past, it was me she came to and she allowed me to comfort her.  By Durin, the level of trust she put in me that night.”

Dís felt her jaw go slack.  “Did she know what that means in our culture?”

“She grew up calling Frérin ‘nadad’.”  He huffed a sigh.  “That wasn’t the first, or last, time we… sought comfort from one another.  I think it was when we were in Thranduil’s dungeons that I admitted to myself Donnabelle meant more to me than her being just another member of the company.  She sought me out not long after she negotiated our release and made an honest dwarf of me.  If it wasn’t for her, we would have lost our way a long time ago.”  He grew quiet as he admitted the next bit: “I love her, Dís.  She’s given me so much without asking for anything in return.”

His sister gave him a small smile.  “And what do you think of the news?”

Thorin’s face lit up.  “I never thought I’d get a chance to have my own children.”

“Just wait,” she responded, “until you hold them.”  It was a while before she spoke again.  “What’s going to happen with Kaupi?”

Thorin set his jaw.  “We are going to find out exactly what happened and make him pay.”

“When?”

He turned his hardened gaze on his sister.  “After Nori and Bifur returns with the third slave with Frérin and Donnabelle.”

**ACIEACIE**

The three hobbits joined the company for breakfast (their second and the company’s first).  Thorin flicked his eyes between his wife and her cousin just as Donnabelle stood to excuse her and the other hobbits for the day.  There was a question in his eyes and his wife nodded slightly in answer.  The corner of his mouth tugged upward as the dark-haired king allowed his gaze to settle on the only male hobbit.  Adalger sent a quizzical look toward his cousin and she sent him a wink.

They left the dining room the company shared and the Took turned on the older Changeling.  “What was that about?”

“Uncles Hildibrand and Isengar didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Donnabelle licked her lips and let her gaze drift to Mimosa before she returned it to her cousin.  “What do you know about anchors?”

Adalger glanced at his wife quickly before his eyes narrowed.  “Enough.  But what does that have to do with anything?”

She pursed her lips.  When she set a quick pace through the corridors, Adalger and Mimosa frowned at each other before they followed after the irate hobbit.  It was a good way into the mountain and upward toward the upper levels when Donnabelle stopped and looked back at the young couple.  “ _Thorin_ is my anchor.  He will be the only one that won’t be fooled.  And it’s not something you can fake.”

Mimosa covered her mouth.  “He’s your anchor?”

Donnabelle’s expression softened as she nodded.  “We don’t need to fool him, though.  You will only need to take my place for the trial.”

“Only problem with that: I don’t know Khuzdul.”

She had a slight grin on her face as she turned back to him.  “That won’t be a problem.”  The smile fell and she swallowed hard.  “Thorin will be beside you all the way and Balin knows of part of the plan.  You won’t have to say anything until Thorin asks you if there is anything more you want to say before he passes judgement.”

 Adalger’s eyebrows shot upward.  “And that’s when you want me to challenge him to single combat?”

“Thorin will protest, as his right.  But Balin should come and explain the honour rite and that _I_ alone have the right to choose who fights in my stead if I am unable to fight myself.”

Mimosa looked curiously at the older female.  “And is there a reason why _you’re_ not facing the man yourself?”

Adalger glowered at his wife.  “Would you want to face a man that held you as a slave for so long?”

Donnabelle sank to the floor and could not bring her haunted gaze to meet either of them.  Mimosa bit her lower lip when she saw the pained expression on the lost hobbit’s face.  When Donnabelle spoke, the former slave’s voice was hollow.  “Right now, the dwarves do not need to see me break down in public as I surely would do if I was forced to confront M-master K-Kau at his trial.”

“And what would they say if they found out that another stepped in and took your place?” the younger woman returned hotly.  “Would you dare find out?”

 Donnabelle looked up at that.  “I do not want to be trapped a _third_ time behind the stupid defence mechanism Changelings have.”

“I don’t want my husband to be tried for imitating a royal either!”

The former slave stood up and left the pair behind.  She was too quick out of the room for them to realise she was gone.  Adalger rolled his eyes and turned on his wife.

“Great.  Now we won’t be able to find our way back now.”

“Oh, so you’re happy just to go along with this plan?”

“No.  But at least I was willing to listen to it.”

**ACIEACIE**

Donnabelle was not proud that she had left her cousins deep within the mountain.  Yet neither of them really understood what she’d gone through at the hands of Kaupi.  Thorin was perhaps the only one in the mountain that understood, at least in part.  She breathed deeply and looked out over the valley that spread out from the front gate.

“What does my brother see in you?”

The hobbit glanced over her shoulder at Dís.  The princess moved to her sister-in-law’s side and followed her gaze out over the valley.  “Which brother?” Donnabelle asked.  “Thorin or Frérin?”

“Either of them.  What is so special about you?”

“Nothing.  There’s nothing special about me.”  Dís paused and really looked at the younger woman.  She closed her eyes as she saw a tear fall from Donnabelle’s eyes.  “I can’t even face… the master without…”  The Changeling trailed and focused her attention on her trembling hands.

The dwarrowdam diverted her attention from the hobbit and breathed deeply.  Thorin had warned her that Donnabelle was not one to open up to people readily.  What was she to say to the scared lass?

“Both of my brothers must have seen something in you if you’re still here.”

Donnabelle turned her attention up and set her blank expression on Dís’ face.  “What?  Frérin did not have to stay when I was first sold.  He didn’t have to protect me when I became a woman.  He didn’t even have to sacrifice himself when men tried…”  She licked her parched lips.  “No.  I didn’t deserve his ashmâr.”

“If…” Dís began and then stopped.  She hadn’t known Frérin had given his life for her brother’s burglar.  “If Frérin hadn’t, then what would have happened?”

“I wouldn’t be here.  Hobbits are not very adventurous, so I don’t think any of my kin would have joined Thorin’s company.  I’m not sure what would have happened to the retaking of Erebor.”

“Thorin would not be as content.”  Donnabelle shifted her gaze to her left and up at Dís.  The dwarrowdam gave her a tight smile.  “I have only been here a day, but I know my brother.  You’ve given him something I’ve never seen in him before.”

“What?”

“Adjân.”

Donnabelle’s lips twitched slightly upward.  She bowed her head and directed her attention back out to the valley.  And there, making their approach to the mountain entrance was a group of dwarrow with a human prisoner. 

“Starur,” breathed Donnabelle.

Dís followed the hobbit’s gaze out to the valley.  Without warning, the former slave took off down to the main gate.  Dís followed at a more sedate pace.

The hobbit reached the front gate just as Nori, Bifur and the others got to the gate.  Nori and Bifur gave the small woman a smile and parted so she could have an unobstructed view of Starur and his family.

Starur blinked as he focused on the Changeling he had not seen in twenty-two years.  He gave her an affectionate smile and bowed.  Donnabelle returned the smile and stepped toward the dwarf that helped raise her.  Holding his gaze, she leaned in and rested her forehead against his.

“Adad?”

Starur pulled away from Donnabelle and looked toward his daughter.  “Yes, Lirlun?”

“Who is this?”

“My name’s Donnabelle.  I grew up with your father.  You’re Lirlun?”  The girl nodded and Donnabelle gave her a reassuring smile.  Turning to the boy, the hobbit asked, “And what’s your name?”

“Tirlun.”

“Little One.”

Donnabelle snapped her attention to Starur and raised her eyebrow.  He bowed his head and stepped closer to his son and daughter.  The hobbit frowned before her attention was drawn to the fourth slave that had been with the dwarf and his family.  Donnabelle trembled and could not stop her hand from covering her mouth.  She looked back at Starur with confusion on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Starur whispered.  “I only found out after you and Frérin left.”

The hobbit found herself drawn back to the dwarf that reminded her so much of Frérin.  The blue-eyed boy let his gaze drift over the Changeling.  _[Are you really the hobbit that was with Starur and my father?]_

Donnabelle nodded.  _[You look like him.]_

Thérin bowed his head before he returned his gaze to his mother.  _[Not all the time.]_

_[You get that from me.]_

The twenty-seven-year-old felt his lower lip tremble, but he refused to let his emotions out in front of strangers.  Donnabelle moved to him and he leant down.

Thorin turned from dealing with Guaire and speaking to both Nori and Bifur.  He stopped in his tracks when he heard the question coming from one of the young dwarf slaves.  That voice was so familiar.  He cast his eyes around the area and spotted Donnabelle approach the dirty-blond dwarf that could only be one person.

Everything else fell away.  He watched as his nephew leant down and press his forehead against his wife’s.  Thorin moved toward the pair.  Yet he would not interrupt the bonding between them.  Folding his arms across his chest, the king looked up and caught the eye of his sister.  Her jaw was slack.

Thérin pulled away from Donnabelle and swallowed hard when he spotted Thorin standing not far from them.  “Sire.”

“Thorin,” the king corrected.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Thérin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Translations  
> Kahf = coffee  
> Adjân = hope  
> Ashmâr = protection


	16. Chapter 15

The whole company (as well as Adalger and Mimosa) was in an uproar when they were formally introduced to Thérin, son of Frérin and Donnabelle.  With the young prince alive, they all knew it changed things when it came to justice for the two slave owners.  Then they turned around and asked how Donnabelle could not inform them that Thérin survived.

She looked around at them, hurt and confused.  “Do you really think I would lie to you about Thérin’s fate?  That either Frérin or I would have left if we knew he was still alive?”

“What happened that made you think he died?” Dís asked.

Donnabelle drew in a deep breath and looked up at her sister-in-law.  “Just after my eighteenth birthday, there was an illness that spread through the village we were slaves in.  A winter vomiting sickness.  Frérin came down with the illness first, early one morning.  I looked after him when I could.  Then Thérin got it that same night.  I became sick the next day.  We were all very sick and not entirely with it.  When dwarrow get sick… they are not very good patients at all.  The days when we were sick flowed all into one and we don’t really remember the time well.  It was during that time that someone came, if only briefly, to check on us.”

Thorin ran his hand over his face.  “That’s when they took Thérin.”  The hobbit nodded.  “How bad was he?”

“The last I remember, Thérin was barely breathing and had lost a lot of fluid.  When I could think clearly after Frérin and I recovered, I thought Starur was looking after him.”

Dís frowned.  “Frérin did not check?”

“He did,” Donnabelle answered.  Her voice was hollow and she did not look up at any of the company as she continued.  “We were presented with the burnt remains of Thérin’s favourite bear and blanket.  A number of other children in the village died.”  Thorin moved to her side and was about to place a comforting hand on her shoulder when she held up a hand.  “Just don’t touch me right now, Thorin.”  He nodded and started to back away from her.  When she turned to look up at him, he stopped.  _[I never questioned it.  We never saw the body.]_

The raven-haired king knelt at her side and raised his hand slowly so she could stop him if she wanted.  She didn’t and he gently cupped her cheek.  Within moments, her own hand had reached up to cover his at her cheek.  She curled her fingers over the top of his palm and gave him a small, fleeting smile.

“Is… is that why you never came for me?”

Donnabelle pulled Thorin’s hand away from her face, yet held onto it in her lap.  She looked up at the son she rarely knew and nodded.  “If we’d known you were alive, we would never have left you.  It was hard enough leaving Starur behind.”

“But adad… he wanted to protect you.”

“Nothing was more important to him, or to any dwarf, than family.”

Thorin stood and allowed Donnabelle’s hand to slide from his.  “Thérin.”

Thérin turned to the king and bowed his head.  He was embarrassed that he’d spoken up without a by your leave.  What was this dwarven king going to do to him for speaking out of turn?  The uncle sighed.  There was a lot that the young half-dwarf did not know and had to learn everything again.  Looking at his wife, he saw her give him a nod in Thérin’s direction.  Thorin shifted his attention back to the boy.

He cleared his throat and began again.  “Thérin, you are my brother’s son.  Frérin was the best brother any dwarf could ask for.  It was a privilege to count him as part of my family.  I know I cannot take his place as your father, yet it would be my honour to fill that role in your life.”

Donnabelle ran a hand over her forehead and shook her head.  Dís groaned and both of her sons winced.  They knew Thorin meant well, but nothing could stop the proverbial foot in mouth syndrome that affected most males.

“I should expect nothing less,” the hobbit commented and took in Thérin’s startled face.  “Frérin suffered from the same thing: foot in mouth.”

Thorin looked horrified in his wife’s direction and it took him a few moments to pick up muffled giggles coming from someone they did not expect.  He turned back to face his youngest nephew, only to find the lad covering his mouth and laughing to himself.  When Thérin realised he was getting sent quizzical looks from his family, he tried to stop his laughter.

“Sorry.  Starur told me about that.  Tried to stop me from following both my parents’ examples.”

“What?”

“Oh, please.  Don’t tell me he told you of the flowers?” Donnabelle groaned.

The boy nodded.  “And the time Adad told Starur about… uh.”  He stopped and glanced toward Dís before returning his attention to his mother.

She nodded with a snort.  “I was mad at him for doing that.”

“Doing what?” Dís asked.

Donnabelle turned to her sister-in-law.  “Up until I was about ten, Frérin called me ‘Little Gem’ or ‘Little One’.  Then, on a day not long after my tenth birthday, I visited the forge for the master, where Starur was working alongside Frérin.  Starur had, like most, thought I was a boy.  I had short hair and answered to the name ‘Bilbo’.  Frérin called me Donnabelle accidently.”

“Whoops,” Kíli laughed.

“Yeah.  After that, there was no hiding who I was.”

Thorin grinned at Thérin.  “It took her two and a half months to tell me her name was Donnabelle and she knew Frérin.  By then, I had already formed a strong attachment to her.”

“That’s what Starur said,” Thérin agreed.  “He said it’s easy to love Amad.”

Donnabelle blushed and ran a hand over the back of her neck.

“Your mother is rather remarkable,” the king praised.  “Something I’m beginning to see she passed onto you.”  He smiled at his brother’s son.  There was no doubt he wanted to announce to the nation the miracle of Thérin, son of Frérin, being alive but Donnabelle quickly squashed any thought of that.  She glared at her husband and her sister-in-law when they both argued it would be good for the kingdom.  The little hobbit set her stormy green eyes on the both of them when they tried persuading her once more to allow them to make the announcement at the trials.

“No.  You are not making the announcement for him.”

“And why not?  The people need to know of his existence.”

Donnabelle swallowed and looked over to where Thérin stood, looking between his uncle and his mother.  When it was apparent she was not going to answer, Thorin looked toward Dís.  His sister shrugged.

“Eventually, I will have to make an announcement.  Thérin’s existence in the mountain will not remain secret for long, and frankly, I do not want to be accused of being ashamed of my family.  He is as much my son as Fíli and Kíli.”

Thérin looked up.  He’d heard a little of his cousins growing up and of how his uncle had stepped in as a father figure to them after their own father had died.  “Really?”

Thorin turned and connected his gaze with the lad.  He moved to stand in front of the short dwarf and nodded.  Thérin shifted his gaze slightly before he dropped his defences and appeared like a small, lost child that had been forced to grow up too fast.  The dark-haired king understood all too well what that was like: he, too, had grown up faster than he should after Smaug had decimated Erebor.  What was he to say to this young man after all he’d gone through?  Thorin leant forward and pressed his forehead against the son that was essentially _his_ through his wife.

**ACIEACIE**

Kaupi and Guaire were brought before the throne room of Thorin two days after Nori’s company had returned to the mountain.  The king himself sat on his throne as he watched the two slave owners being dragged in by Dwalin’s guard.  The hall was packed with the kingdom’s population: a few were curious to hear what the two men had done; most wanted to see how justice would be carried out. 

Rumour began to spread soon after the second slave owner had been locked up that there was more than Starur been kept in the south.  That whatever was found affected the hobbit that was their queen, which affected the rest of the royal family.  In turn, whatever ‘it’ was affected the rest of the mountain.  So when a date was set a mere two days after Guaire’s arrival, all work in Erebor shut down and the population converged on the throne room where the trial was to take place.

Thorin interlocked his fingers in front of him and set his jaw.  He turned his cold gaze on the two men before him before his gaze shifted slightly to Balin and gave the advisor a single nod to begin the proceedings.

Balin cleared his throat and stepped forward.  “Kaupi, son of Hakon, and Guaire, son of Carr; you have been brought before this hall to face the accusations levelled against you.”

“What accusations?  Where are our accusers?”

The white-haired advisor levelled his glare on the two men before he looked down at the scroll he held in his hand.  “You have been charged with the purchasing and selling of slaves, harmful neglect, endangering children, enforcing your will on those less fortunate and beating them within inches of their lives.  How do you respond to these charges?”

There were murmurs amongst the crowd.  Kaupi glowered and pulled against the chains at his wrists.  “There is no proof!  Where are our accusers?”

Thorin gripped his throne and narrowed his eyes at the two slave owners.  Balin flicked his gaze at the king before focusing on the older man.  “You will have a chance to refute each charge _after_ the evidence has been stated and examined.  The first witness against you both is Starur, son of Farnur.”

Starur stepped forward from his position on Balin’s left.  He explained in varying detail on the life he lived as a slave under first Kaupi and then Guaire.  Balin paid particular detail to the way Frérin protected any slave that came to live in the household of Kaupi and tried protecting the younger dwarf (and later Donnabelle) until the dwarf suffered so much he had been forced to hide from the master until he’d healed enough to work again.  Kaupi had sold Starur when things had gone to pieces after the man had unwisely sold the small dwarf child, Thérin, to Guaire without informing Frérin or Donnabelle their child had survived.  Starur informed the chamber of his desire to protect the dwarfling after he discovered the child had not died as he had been led to believe.

After Starur had presented his case, the whole court was in an uproar.  They were angry with Kaupi for enslaving their prince and that the man didn’t seem to care when Frérin risked his life to protect those weaker than himself.

“Quiet!” Thorin called out.  His eyes were dark and stormy.  Narrowing them, he directed his attention onto the two men that were currently waiting for judgment.  “Balin.”

Balin nodded and called forward Raec, the royal medic.  The medic told the people of Erebor about the whipping scars that littered their queen’s back and of the brand that was etched into her shoulder.  He moved on to describe in detail the scars on Starur and Thérin’s bodies that were evidence against the pair of slave owners.  Starur’s two children shared of their childhood as slaves.  Not all of it was pleasant.

Mimosa then brought forward evidence of the physiological damage done to Donnabelle while she was a slave and how Kaupi had tried to enter the Shire to gain his ‘property’ again not even two years after she’d returned.  Thorin barely held his anger in check when he heard how close he’d come to not meeting Donnabelle, nor finding out what had happened to his brother.  The company that had travelled to regain Erebor with Thorin were equally as angry.

Balin cleared his throat.  The only sign that showed his anger was in his eyes: they held a hard glint to them as he narrowed his focus on the two accused men.  Kaupi and Guaire were both pale; the latter more ashen than the former.

Kaupi stepped forward.  “These accusations are false.  There is no proof other than this hearsay that any of this happened.”

Balin turned on the older man and softly asked, “Are you accusing our queen of _lying_?”  His voice carried throughout the chamber and all who heard him could hear the steel behind his words.  “How old was she when you forced her to bear a child?”

There was a wicked grin that spread across Kaupi’s face, though Guaire’s face lost more of its colour.  “You have no proof of that.  _If_ the Shireling had a child, it was not of my choosing.”

“Whoever said our queen was a hobbit?”

Kaupi gulped and allowed his eyes to dart around the room.  With that one line, he knew he’d just admitted to owning Donnabelle and therefore solidifying the accusations against him as truth.  Taking Guaire down with him.

Thorin stood up and reached for his sword.  Movement to his left stopped him from challenging the men in defence of both his wife and brother’s honour.  Donnabelle unfastened the clasp that held her cloak together.  The burgundy cloak slid off her shoulders, revealing the golden yellow dress she wore underneath.

The king swallowed and closed his eyes.  He remembered well the day she ordered the dress to be made.  At the time, he had questioned her reasoning behind it but he understood now why she was so certain about the design.  She glanced his way and he saw her chin tremble.  He tapped his chest twice with his left fist and then opened up his palm close to his heart.  A small, grateful smile crossed her face and she turned to the two men on trial.  She held her head high as she approached the pair of them.

Their faces, if possible, paled further at the regal hobbit’s approach.  She kept her focus on the second slave owner: the man that had kept her son from her.

“You say there is no proof of the accusations brought before this kingdom today.  That it was not you who owned slaves, or gave them a beating when they did not perform to your standards.  It was not you who forced a child of fourteen through something she had no concept of knowing, nor was it you that celebrated the night a new addition was added to your household slaves.”  Donnabelle stopped as she felt her voice break over listing just some of the things that had been done to her by Kaupi.  She slowly turned her back to them and it was only then that those closest to the throne could pick up on the whipping scars that crisscrossed across her upper back.

Kaupi swallowed when his eyes landed on the brand he had placed over the small woman’s left shoulder blade when she was but only five.  Donnabelle breathed deeply and turned back to face the man that had made her early life a living hell.  “My back, and your face, is all the evidence I need to issue a challenge for retribution.  You took so much from me: my home, my freedom, my childhood and my family.  That includes my son.”  With that, Donnabelle turned to face the second slave owner.  She took in a gasping breath.  “I cannot issue the same challenge to you.  What I can do is challenge you to face retribution for what you did to my _son._ ”  She stepped back and looked down at her hands.  They were shaking.  She swallowed and turned to look up at her husband.  Her face crumpled and she dropped her gaze again.

Thorin desperately wanted to move to her side.  He knew he couldn’t though.  This was something Donnabelle had to do on her own otherwise her challenges would be void.  “Look up at me,” he breathed.  Donnabelle brought her gaze up again and focused on the azure eyes of Thorin.  He gave her a reassuring nod.

She cleared her throat and kept her gaze on him.  **~There is an ancient rite I call upon this day: the rite of single combat to the death to restore the honour of those that have been wronged.  This challenge is issued by the person, or persons, wronged to the wrongdoers.  If the wrongdoer does not accept the challenge, then it is in the challenger’s right to set the alternative.~**

Thorin narrowed his eyes and briefly glanced in Balin’s direction.  Was what Donnabelle said true?  The advisor nodded.  The king turned his attention back to his wife.  Only he could stop her challenge from going forward.  Taking a deep breath, he did the only thing he could: “Your rite has been heard.  And accepted.”

There was silence upon the pronouncement Thorin made.  Guaire and Kaupi looked at each other and wondered what was going on.  Donnabelle lifted her chin.  **~As I am in a position that I cannot safely fulfil my challenge, it is my right to nominate a close relative to take up my place in the single combat.~**

The king cleared his throat.  _This_ was not how he expected to announce his burglar’s pregnancy.  He gave a regal nod, wondering how she would explain why it was not her that would take up the challenge.

Donnabelle turned to look at Balin and then toward the two slavers awaiting her pronouncement.  “My right to challenge you both to single combat has been granted.  If you do not accept this challenge, you will be whipped and then executed.”

“What if we win?” Guaire asked.

“You will be released.”

“Single combat,” both men quickly agreed.  Kaupi ran his eyes over the small figure and grinned.  It would be easy to win against the hobbit.

“The challenge is to the death,” she added and then paused.  Guaire swallowed but nodded.  He was sure he could best the small woman.  “As I am pregnant, it is my right to nominate someone to fight in my place.”

Kaupi’s face drained of all colour.  “Who?”

“I nominate the King’s Captain of the Guard.  My nadad.”

Dwalin stepped forward with a feral grin on his and flexed his muscles.  “It would be my _honour_ to fight in your stead, namadith.”  He came to stand beside the hobbit and glared at the two slavers.  “Men baruk vel menu vazr an morag.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Adad = father  
> Nadad = brother  
> Namadith = little sister  
> Men baruk vel menu vazr an morag = My axe and your face will be friends.


	17. Chapter 16

Thérin sniffed and watched as the valley in front of the main gate emptied.  Dwalin was a skilled warrior; far superior to the two slavers he fought and killed in defence of Frérin, Donnabelle and any other slave owned by the two men.  And he _was_ glad that both Kaupi and Guaire were no longer alive to prey upon his mind.  He looked down from the main gate to where the team was removing the second body before he bowed his head.

“Kid.”  Thérin looked up at the bark and frowned.  He wasn’t a kid.  One of the guards was looking in his direction.  “You lost?”

“I’m sorry sir,” the young dwarf answered as he lowered his gaze.  Thérin wasn’t overly tall for a dwarf, standing at four foot three inches, a full foot taller than his mother, yet he felt dwarfed by the guard staring him down.  And most of his unknown family; they each had a good seven inches on him in height.  “No, I’m not lost.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“I came to see justice done.”  He lifted his eyes up before he dropped them again.  There was no reason to tell the guard _why_ he had chosen to watch from the gate and not from the field of battle: after the initial day of being welcomed into the mountain by his mother, uncle, and family, it seemed that he was ignored in favour of organising the trial.  He’d barely spoken two words to Thorin since that first morning and his mother had made the decision that he should remain quiet throughout the trial.

Fundamentally, he knew that things would be different if he _had_ spoken up at the trial for Guaire and Kaupi but that did not mean the decision hurt.  Ori had explained to Thérin the law Donnabelle had invoked and if the Mountain had discovered Frérin’s son was alive, they would have expected the lad to take his mother’s place on the field of single battle.  And Donnabelle was aware of what weapons training her son would have had during his enslavement.  He barely knew which end was the killing part of a sword.  If it had not been for Starur, Thérin would not have known even that.

“Rin.”

Thérin looked up at the sound of his shortened name.  He knew that there would be only two people that would call him that.  It did not take him long before he spotted the two half-dwarrow on the steps that lead to the ramparts.

“Rin?” the guard asked.

Thérin turned to the dwarf on duty and gave a brief nod.  “My name is Thérin.”  The blond twenty-seven-year-old looked down to his two companions and queried, “Yeah?”

“Adad’s looking for you.”

“Who’s your father?”

The young former slave looked up again.  From what he could tell, he had two choices: deny who his father was and remain hidden within the mountain or he could admit the truth.  What would it matter now that the slavers had been taken care of?  And it wasn’t like the guards were going to come out and ask him who his mother was in the same breath.  “Frérin, son of Thráin.”  He turned to make his was off the battlements when the guards stopped him once again.

“Surely not.  Your father cannot be Prince Frérin.”

“And why not?”

“Prince Frérin died in the Battle of Azanulbizar, 144 years ago.  And you’re short.”

Thérin kept his mouth shut.  He wasn’t sure _how_ his father had died; all that he knew was that the dwarf that sired him _had_ died.  It just wasn’t during the Battle of Azanulbizar or that long ago.  Once he got down to the entrance chamber floor, he looked toward the two part-humans.  “Come on.”

Lirlun looked over at her brother and bit her lower lip.  She could tell the guard had upset Thérin, and it wasn’t hard to understand why.  Ever since the three of them had arrived in the mountain, no one was sure of them nor how to act around them.  Starur found it a little easier to settle within the mountain than the three ‘children’ in his care, and with good reason.  He, unlike them, had not been born into slavery and he remembered what it had been like before he’d been sold.  Not that he blamed any of them for finding it difficult to adjust to something new.  Erebor was far different for him than the Blue Mountains.

Starur looked up just as his children and Thérin entered the living quarters they had been assigned within the mountain.  “Did you go?” the blacksmith asked quietly.

The short blond nodded and kicked off his boots.  “You really expect me not to?”  Moving to the settee opposite Starur, Thérin flopped into it.  “They’re dead.”  He glared slightly as Tirlun moved to the end of the settee and sat on his feet.  Kicking out at the younger boy, the older boy shifted his feet to sit sideways on the three seater.  “What’s going to happen to us now?”

“We’re going to find a way of living here.”

“But why Adad?” Tirlun asked.  “We don’t have any friends here.”

The partially blind dwarf turned to his thirteen-year-old son and levelled his one good eye on the boy.  “We have only been here a few days, Tirlun.”

“I don’t like it here, Adad,” Lirlun complained.  “We don’t fit in.”

Starur turned his attention to his seventeen-year-old.  “Any move is hard, Dezebith.”

Lirlun rolled her eyes with a smile.  “I’m not little, Adad.”

The blacksmith laughed.  He knew both of his children would be taller than him because of their mother’s blood; in fact, Lirlun had already surpassed him in height by three inches.  “No, you’re not.  But you’ll always be my dezebith.  We will get through this.  Give it time.”  Starur looked over his two children, and the son of his heart, before he offered them a deal: “If you are still unhappy living in Erebor after six months, we can see about living in Dale.”

Thérin frowned and looked at the closest thing he knew to a father.  “Really?”

“After six months, we will see.”  Starur allowed his attention to drift over the son of his friend and prince.  “I don’t think King Thorin would allow me to take you away from him, though.”

The prince huffed and folded his arms across his chest.  “He hasn’t done anything to claim me either.”  He did not look up at the blacksmith as he added, “I don’t know where I fit in this place.”

“You will find your place.  We all will.”

“I’ve been replaced!” the boy exploded.  “You heard her.”  Standing, he moved to the fireplace.  “I mean, it’s not like I don’t want siblings, but didn’t they think about how I’d see it?”

A throat cleared from beside Starur.  Thérin jumped and spun around.  Fíli sat beside the blacksmith, while Kíli had taken the younger dwarf’s spot on the settee.  “Aunt Donnabelle rarely does anything without thinking things through,” the crown prince stated.  “She had only told Uncle Thorin of her pregnancy a few days ago and he informed us.  Then you arrived.  And she faced her worse fear in hopes to protect _you_.  If she told you about the child before the trials, what would you have done?”

Thérin blinked and frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“Would you have stepped up and issued the challenge on her behalf if you had known before the trials that you’d be a big brother?” Fíli rephrased.

“Of course!”

“ _That_ is why she didn’t tell you,” Starur finalised.  “She wanted to keep you safe.  Frérin, if he had been here, would have issued the challenge on her behalf, just like you wanted to do.  And he would have had to fight in her stead.  But your father had something you do not.”

The part-hobbit paled.  If he had issued the challenge, then the two slavers would most likely have killed him without facing the justice they deserved.  He did not have any training in combat, and his mother _knew_ that.

“Aunt Donnabelle could never replace you,” Kíli told his cousin.  “No one could take your place in her heart.  Not even Uncle Thorin.”

Thérin gave a small nod before he bit his lower lip.  “If… if my father was King Thorin’s brother, what does that make me?”  The boy looked up again at his two cousins.  “I mean, my father was older than your mother.”

“I’ve been named Thorin’s legal heir, but rightly, that title belongs to you.”

“I don’t want it.  I just want to know where I stand in the family.”

Fíli bowed his head and moved to his cousin’s side.  The older blond had not looked forward to the conversation he now was in ever since they found out Thérin was alive.  Starur, aware that the three princes needed the time and space to work out where they stood with each other, stood and directed his children out of the chambers.

“You are our cousin.  Nothing will change that,” Fíli said.  “Frankly, I was worried you’d want to take the crown from me.”

Thérin snapped his gaze up to the shared blue gaze of his cousin.  “I don’t know the first thing about being a free dwarf, let alone being able to rule.  No one would want an ex-slave for a king.”

“But we would want an ex-slave for an advisor and friend,” the crown prince assured.  “No matter what you choose, you’ll always have a place with us.”

The short dwarf nodded slowly.  “What… what about King Thorin?”

Kíli raised an eyebrow at his brother.  “Uncle doesn’t like being called ‘king’, especially when it comes from family.”

“And we can’t speak for him.”

“What we can do,” the dark haired prince put in, “is teach you all there is to know about being part of our family.”  Sending his brother a wink, Kíli grinned and threw his arm around the smaller dwarf.  “Now, you may not know this about our uncle, Frérin, but our dear Uncle Thorin said Frérin loved to play jokes on people.  Aunt Donnabelle told us of a few he played on her and Starur.”

Thérin lifted his gaze again and matched the grin on his cousin’s face.  “Who’s the target?  I would dearly love to get Nori back.”

“What did Nori do?”

“He nicked Starur’s pipeweed and exchanged it with Bifur’s while we were on the road.  Starur took one whiff of it and knew something wasn’t right.  If Starur’s lighting up his pipe, then he’s using it for pain relief.  And the weed he uses would knock anyone else for a loop.”

Fíli and Kíli looked at each other and then at their cousin.  They each wore identical looks of mischief on their faces.  The three of them quickly got to work on thinking up an appropriate prank to play on the unsuspecting thief turned spymaster.

**ACIEACIE**

Starur left the three princes discussing plans and sharing stories with Lirlun and Tirlun and sought out the hobbit he once knew.  He found her in the library and asked the question of Thérin’s place within the family and of the beads he thought Frérin would have crafted for the lad.  Donnabelle lifted her gaze up to the former slave and felt her eyes widen.  Starur swallowed and bowed his head.

“Frérin didn’t craft beads for his son?”

The hobbit nodded her head.  “He did, even though we thought he was gone.  Frérin didn’t want to miss the chance of telling Thorin or Dís of the son he’d lost.”  Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth.  “I remember!”

“Remember what?” Starur asked.

“Find Thorin and tell him to meet me in our chambers!” she called out over her shoulder as she dashed from the library and in the direction of the royal wing.

The former slave shook his head but did as he was commanded.

By the time Thorin arrived at their quarters from the meeting Starur interrupted, Donnabelle was rifling through her mother’s glory box for the clasps she kept of Frérin’s.  Thorin frowned as he heard her mutter, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier.”

“What are you doing?”

She looked up just as she found the last of the beads Frérin had crafted for their son.  “I know a father is the one who crafts the first bead for their child and is the one who braids it into their hair.”  Thorin’s frown deepened, wondering where his wife was going with her comment.  She reached out with her free hand to him and he helped her to her feet.  “Thorin, I never thought of it, but Frérin knew about Fíli and Kíli.”

“What of it?”

“He _knew_ of them.  And he knew _you_ were not a father.  Not… not when he made these.”

Donnabelle opened up her hand to him.  The hand that held the three beads that Frérin would have braided into Thérin’s hair upon the lad’s fifth birthday.  Slowly, the dwarven king looked down at the beads his wife held and a sudden lump appeared in his throat as he took in the designs of the three beads.  One would declare the bearer a son of Durin, and in particular, a son of Frérin.  The second would declare the wearer to be a prince and nephew of Thorin.  The third, and probably the one that cleared up any situation Thorin had wrestled with since discovering Thérin was alive, would declare the bearer to be stout in mind and body, yet _not_ the heir to the throne, as was his right.

Thorin felt his eyes drift upward to gaze into his wife’s face.  “Do you know what these mean?”

She nodded slowly.  “Frérin wanted Thérin to have the choice.  He knew you had two capable heirs in Dís’ sons, and they would have been training all of their lives to take up the throne from you.”

“He needs someone to braid these into his hair,” Thorin said quietly and closed Donnabelle’s hand over the beads she held.

Biting her lower lip, she looked down at their joined hands.  “It’s not my place Thorin.  I may be his mother, but it is the father’s responsibility to claim a son by braiding the first family beads into his hair.”  She brought her gaze up and cupped the king’s jaw.  He lifted his uncertain blue eyes to hers.  “Frérin would have wanted you to do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Translations  
> Adad = father  
> Dezebith = little diamond


	18. Chapter 17

“I’m going to kill them!”

Donnabelle looked up from where she was working with Bombur in the communal kitchen the company used.  It had been a day since Dwalin had carried out her challenge to Kaupi and Guaire.  Frowning, she moved out into the main living area just as Nori burst through the door from the corridor.  She promptly burst into laughter when she saw the dwarf’s hair was streaked with black, dark brown and some other colour she could not identify.

“It’s not funny,” Nori hissed.

The hobbit tried to contain her snort as she looked the thief over.  “What did you do to deserve your hair products to be replaced?”

The former light-brown dwarf narrowed his eyes.  “What?”

“Unless you’ve been down in the coal mines today?”

Nori blinked.  There weren’t any coal mines in Erebor, and he thought Donnabelle knew that.  “Where are they?”

Dís stood up, drawing the thief’s attention to her.  He hadn’t known the princess was in the room when he’d burst into the room.  “Have you ever known my sons to pull this type of prank before?”  Nori stuttered out a partial answer just as Dís raised her eyebrow and took in his appearance again.  “Seems to me they switched out your regular product for one laced with black walnut powder.  And is that… kafh I smell?”

Donnabelle giggled again.  When the spymaster turned and glared at her, she shrugged.  “It’ll wash out.  Eventually.”

“How do you know?”

“Frérin.”

Nori tilted his head to the side and looked at the two women.  He had few memories himself of the late prince but he had heard Fíli had inherited more than his uncle’s looks.  “So… who?”

Donnabelle winked at the spymaster before she returned back into the kitchen to work with Bombur.  Dís laughed to herself and shrugged her shoulders.  She wasn’t going to deny her sons _could_ be involved in the prank, but there was someone else behind the prank.  They were not the types to get away with stealing from Nori.  Oh, the pair of them definitely had some sort of help and if she wasn’t mistaken, the help most likely came in the form of their cousin.

The spymaster narrowed his eyes at the princess.  “What are you not saying?”

“I just want to know what you did to deserve someone switching your hair products on you.”  When the thief refused to say anything about what _he’d_ done to either prince, Dís pursed her lips.  It wasn’t long before she enquired, “And what was it you did on your journey here?”

Nori looked up and groaned.  “Don’t tell me they found out about the pipeweed.”

Balin walked in and raised an eyebrow at the spymaster.  Nori glowered at the advisor (who was desperately trying not to laugh) before he stormed out of the communal lounge.  Balin let out a low chuckle as the younger dwarf left.  Turning to the princess, he gave her a wide grin.  Dís laughed along with her cousin.

“Last time I saw that prank successfully pulled on somebody, it was my father on the receiving end.  What did Nori do to deserve that?”

**ACIEACIE**

Thorin couldn’t help but snigger to himself after he saw what had happened to Nori that night at the dinner table.  He also picked up that though his sister’s sons were involved; they were not the masterminds behind the prank.  Which, if anyone really thought about it, left only one person as the culprit.

And not at the dinner table. 

Donnabelle, when she realised Thérin had not joined them for dinner, was about to leave in search of him.  Thorin slipped his arm around her shoulders and leant in to place a kiss on her cheek, effectively stopping her from exiting the room.  She turned to him with a frown on her face.

“I’ll find him,” he whispered.  Thorin looked around the room and his gaze landed on Nori.  He couldn’t help but send his wife a smirk and a wink before he quietly slipped out of the dining hall.

The dwarven king first tried in Starur’s rooms and did not find the lad there.  He bid the former slave goodnight before heading to the gardens he’d created for his wife.  When that proved futile, Thorin wasn’t quite sure where to head next and found himself wandering toward a part of the mountain he had not been in since he was a lad.  He frowned slightly as he approached the open doorway of his grandmother’s retreat in a secluded corner just above the royal wing: a small library with a small alcove that opened up to view Dale and the valley between the world of men and Erebor.

He knocked on the outer door to alert anyone inside the room he was there and entered.  A lump formed in his throat as he allowed his fingers to run over the tapestry that hung just inside the doorway.  He barely remembered the day his grandmother had finished it, nor the day his grandfather had it hung after his twelfth birthday.  Not long after that, his beloved grandmother had died, taking with her Thrór’s rationality.  His fingers paused over where his name, and his brother’s, was stitched into the family tree.  Thorin swallowed and looked around the room.  There were several shelves of books that were dear to both his mother and grandmother.  His eyes widened as he read some of the titles.  One in particular caught his attention, written in the untidy handwriting of his eleven-year-old self.  He strode toward it and pulled the small leather-bound book off the shelf.  Flicking through the pages, he remembered giving the book to Agdís for her birthday.  If he recalled correctly, it was the first and last gift he’d made for her before she died.

“What’s that?”  Thorin started and almost dropped the book.  He looked up as Thérin moved into his line of sight and bowed his head apologetically.  “I did not mean to startle you.”

“It's fine,” the king returned, returning the book to its place on the shelf.  “I was actually looking for you.  As for the book, I made a book with all the promises I made my grandmother and gave it to her before she died.”

The boy looked up at that and his eyes widened.  “Really?”

Thorin nodded with a small smile.  “This was her sanctuary and Frérin’s favourite place in the mountain.”

“My father’s?”

“He barely remembered our sigin’amad, so he came here to remember her.  Eventually, this became our escape from our duties when they became too much.”  The king moved to his nephew’s side and placed a hand on the younger dwarf’s shoulder.

“How old were you, when the dragon came?”

“Twenty-four,” he answered quietly.  “Frérin was nineteen.  We weren’t much younger than you when our world was changed forever.”  Oh, Thorin remembered how things had changed for him and his siblings.  Watching Smaug decimate Dale and the gates of Erebor had forced him to grow up overnight.  He had never thought he would take up his grandfather’s throne at such a young age, yet neither Thrór nor Thráin had been outside Erebor when Smaug had made his run on the mountain, and he felt that the responsibility of leading his people landed squarely on his shoulders.

Thérin worried his lower lip and then looked up at his uncle.  “I never thought I’d be in the position where one decision would affect not only me but people that are important…”

The king nodded slowly and took in his brother’s son.  “The decision to not take up your birthright?”

“How did you know?”

Thorin reached into his cloak and pulled out the beads that Donnabelle had given him.  “Frérin saw the change in me after Smaug came.  How I wasn’t the fun loving child I had been in the mountain and he didn’t want to force you into the same position.”  He opened his hand and showed the beads to his nephew.  “He made these for you and it was for him to braid them into your hair on your fifth birthday.”

Thérin reached out and ran his fingers over the beads his father had crafted.  “What do they mean?”

The dark-haired king brought his second hand up and drew Thérin’s fingers to the first bead.  “This one is to say you are a son of Frérin, of the line of Durin.  This second one declares you as my nephew and a prince of Erebor.  The third one gives you the choice: your father knew of Fíli and Kíli because Starur had met them before he was captured.  And as my brother also knew, I would have named them my heirs until I had a son of my own.”  He looked up as he finished speaking and reached out to lift Thérin’s chin.  “It is up to you if you want to declare your intent to renounce your birth right as my heir.”

A small smile began to spread across his face.  “You won’t be mad if I just want to be your nephew?  That I don’t want to be crown prince?”

Thorin returned the smile.  “I would be honoured to get to know you as my nephew, and son.  You could never disappoint me with choosing not to take up your birthright.”  He looked down at the beads in his hand and added, “It is a father’s job to braid the first family beads into his son’s hair.  And I know I could never replace Frérin, it would be my privilege to braid these into your hair.”

Thérin swallowed.  “You’d do that?”

“It would be my joy to do this for you.”

The young man looked back down at the beads in Thorin’s hand and pointed to the fourth bead the older dwarf held.  “What does this last one mean?”

“That one declares you as brave, selfless and my son in all but blood.”

“Do you really see me like that?”  When Thorin sent him a frown, Thérin clarified, “As your son?”

Thorin nodded.  “Ever since Donnabelle told me of you.  Again, it’s up to you if you want to wear that bead in your hair.”

“Please.  Could you braid them all in?”

The dark haired dwarf closed his fist around the beads and leant in to rest his forehead on Thérin’s.  Neither really wanted to part, yet it wasn’t long before they separated and Thorin began interweaving two braids into the blond’s hair from near the temples.  Thorin cleared his throat once he finished and Thérin looked up.

“Thank you.  Could… could you tell me more of my adad?”

Thorin gave his nephew a conspiratorial wink.  “Have you heard he was a prankster?  The last time I remember someone pulling off the hair dye prank was before Smaug attacked.  We were under the instruction of Fundin, son of Farin, and Frérin’s first week with actual weapons was brutal.  Neither of us was impressed that we were forced to fight one another during that week.  So we came here and concocted the plan to get some payback.”

“You?”

The blue-eyed king cocked an eyebrow upward.  “Is it so hard to believe?”

“But you were the crown prince.”

“At the time, I was second in line to the throne.  My father, Thráin, was crown prince.”  Thorin smirked and continued, “I wasn’t about to allow my brother to have all the fun, and it was my job to make sure he didn’t get caught.  We swapped out the bar of soap Fundin used while he and his wife were busy with Balin.  Balin was five.  Both father and son were sporting black hair for at least six weeks after that.”

Thérin laughed.  “What happened after?”

“Fundin punished us in the practice ring for weeks until the dye washed out.  Me, more than your father.  Because, though it was your father who came up with the idea, it was _my_ choice to follow through with the prank.”

“You sound like you really cared for him.”

“That’s what brothers do.  They take care of their siblings.”

The blond youngling that was so like his father shifted uncomfortably.  “But… what of Amad’s baby?  She won’t have time for me.”

“Frérin struggled with the same thing when we found out about Dís.  The new baby will be no less _your_ little brother or sister.  We are not replacing you.  In fact, we’d _both_ appreciate having you around, especially because there’ll be things _you_ can teach the little one that your mother and I _won’t_ be able to teach them.”

“Really?”

“There’s something special and unique about being a zanid nadad.  I wouldn’t trade being a nadad for anything.  Give it time.  That’s all I ask.”

Thérin sniffed and gave his uncle and father a small, shaky smile.  Perhaps coming to the mountain wasn’t the worst thing that happened to him.  And maybe, just maybe, he could build a future as a big brother and friend to his cousins.  He nodded and Thorin gave him an encouraging smile.  The future was suddenly looking brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> kafh = coffee  
> sigin’amad = grandmother  
> Amad = mother  
> adad = father  
> zanid nadad = big brother  
> nadad = brother


End file.
